


From Below Now Above

by Malen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age - Various Authors, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Solavellan - Fandom, solas/lavellan - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-02 07:57:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2805260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malen/pseuds/Malen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fan writing of a possible Wolf Hunt .<br/>Lavellan and Solas endgame with subtle predictions <br/>related to Solas and what becomes of Inquisitor Lavellan.<br/>Including activities that lead further into the dwarven story <br/>involving red lyrium.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit from Morrigan begins a new adventure for the Inquisitor.  
> With everything in place, Lavellan takes a moment to gather herself;  
> not knowing where this journey will lead.

Begin

It has been a long year, for the one we call Inquisitor.  
Once a simple spy, lost in a remnant, of the Elven Clan Lavellan.   
She now holds one of the most powerful thrones in all Thedas.  
Even still, it's hard for some to believe, they would see reason in an elf.  
However, the world is changing. Hope – it seems – has outweighed prejudice.  
After the defeat of Corypheus, the world all stopped to look on their Herald.  
In all hearts and minds, she held the power of the gods, able to speak for the very gods themselves. But, you’d never know it looking at our Inquisitor, our leader. Her kindness and glowing spirit stretches through even the darkest corners. Her fortress holds refuge for the mages and welcomes any who seek its shelter.

Even still, there are those who oppose her. Her presence is a darkness. Her mighty and fierce reach goes further than any have ever experienced, in this life.   
To her enemy, she is what pride had wrought, a fake, “the pretender” they call her and they are devoted to see to her demise.   
Even so, the people of Thedas see her as their champion and they continue to support the Inquisition, as the fight endures past the fall of Corypheus.  
Today, I am to meet with her once more. Though she has defeated the Elder One, there is much more to come for our Herald.

Pages scattered across her desk. Stacks of books have taken over her walk space.   
With much to learn, as traditions have become challenged, belief’s shaken; finding answer seems an impossible task.   
“I swear, I have found more use for these books in my fireplace than in answers.” A sigh accents her frustration while she sets down yet another disappointing read.   
“Dare I say, that I must agree? No wonder your people seek to murder royalty in the cover of night. A vast procurement of utter garbage.” Standing from the comfort no longer found in his chair, frustration has left its mark.  
“I never knew what had happened, or why. The songs of my people quieted as if nothing is in balance. After our battle, I am just left seeking more. Answers must be out there.” Standing into a well needed stretch, indentations still mark the place she just sat. Another long day of research has left the two friends with little to go on.  
“Ah, yes, and we still do not even know how much further this game is to go.”  
“I never liked the game, Dorian.” Walking off from the rotunda, she leaves her friend to get some fresh air. Tired eyes, busy minds, time has left its mark on both of their faces, a good rest seems overdue.  
Dorian, much to his own surprise, spends too much time researching the Elves.   
He often makes light of it during the drunken nights, playing Wicked Grace with the friends  
who still fill the halls of Skyhold. All of them do. In their distinct way’s.   
A history was lost, buried in rubble and forgotten ruins, the crypts of their dead exposed to looting and intrusion. Time decaying anything left behind. Knowing they have a part in bringing back something lost to time, or at least answers to the exposed remains. While others, like Leliana still seek their own answers, reaffirming their commission to the Maker. They still know, that finding answers to any of this, will help them all.  
As for Solas, no one has any idea of what became of him, beyond speculation.   
Though, the Inquisitor still has hope in her heart, everything she does, is for the people.  
Yes, a tale as old as time. Yet – what is to come – may change everything once more.  
Half asleep on her desk, another morning breaks into view over the snow-covered mountains.  
The light fills her room bringing a hint of warmth. She feels a slight tug at her consciousness.   
She has come to know this feeling all too well, as he has nearly become part of her.  
“What is it Cole”? She looks up half aware.  
“Someone is coming for you, many voices; old and new singing together.   
But, don’t be afraid. They will not harm you.” He remains standing near her side.  
A knock on her chamber door. “Inquisitor? Inquisitor? Inquisitor, you have a visitor. I think you’ll want to speak with.” The scout stands waiting at the door.

Her heart stands still, heavy. Beating comes back slow and hard. Filled with hope, genuine and full. Walking out of her chambers, she feels unsteady. Unknowing, she swallows one breath, closing her eyes she steadies herself.  
Directed out to the garden, the cool air meets her skin. The garden radiates with life.   
People’s laughter fills the area as they still speak praises to their Herald. Mother Giselle cares for to the spiritual needs of those who still seek out the familiar comfort of the Chantry. The simple herb garden, the only backdrop, to the faith the people hold. Its purpose fulfilled, a place of healing. A familiar form stands in front of the gazebo. A face not seen for a time.  
“Morrigan?” Her face lets on a trace of surprise.  
“I assume I am not who you were hoping to see.” Morrigan, always showing a shadow of what she knows, takes a polite bow.  
“I’m sorry, no. Though, I never know what to expect. However, you are a welcomed face. I think.”   
“Ah, always the shining example of etiquette Inquisitor, we have much to discuss, I hope I have not come at a bad time.”  
“I suppose that depends on what we are discussing?”  
“Inquisitor, I know you have been busy juggling the burdens that come from a place such as yours. I can imagine how busy you have been, playing the grand game.”  
“I do my best, Morrigan. How may I help you?”  
“Straight to business, are we?” Morrigan narrows her eyes looking Lavellan’s face over. “Very well. The last time we saw each other, I was still shaping the secrets from the Well of Sorrows.   
With much information to go through, I needed time to organize before I met with you.”  
“I hope this means you have come to share.”  
“It appears the voices have been calling recently. Once again, you are the one that can help. However, we must be cautious. I am still bound to Mythal and I do not know all that may come.  
“How am I not surprised”? Lavellan’s well-known smirk, flushes across her lips.  
“I may not know of what you seek, Inquisitor. I do know, there is more in your soul than the want for power. I feel that I might be able to help in your endeavors as you help me.”  
“In what way do you mean”?  
“There is little you know of me, Inquisitor.” Morrigan let's down her guard, falling into her adviser role, softly. “I was once in a position, lost from the answers I needed for my own heart; know that I am a friend, but I also need you as so many others. I can tell you this. We may not find the answers we want, but answers we shall find. If you are interested, meet me Val Royeaux, we have much to do.”  
A readied visit to the war room, Lavellan surrounds herself with her advisers, whose skills remain unmatched. Lavellan knows that she walks a path unclear – friend or foe – it is always a gamble. Leliana puts spies in place around the kingdom. “We can never be too sure, Inquisitor.”   
Cullen, longingly looks at the Inquisitor, “Please be careful, I will have a stand of troops ready at your call.”   
“Inquisitor, I will have the place of your meeting secured and every dignitary distracted at a simple party, so to give you the privacy needed on your arrival.” The ever-alert Josephine, always looking for a chance to host one or her now famed soirées, jots down a note on her writing board.  
“With Cassandra in her place as Divine, I do not want to disrupt her from her duty just yet,   
but send word so she is aware.” Leliana nods in cooperation.   
Sending word to her most trusted companions, everything is in place, for the journey ahead. Lavellan takes a moment to gather herself; knowing this journey will be long. Walking into the room he once sat, studying and painting her story on the plastered walls. She looked over the images of the mural one more time, knowing in her heart the story remains unfinished.   
That night, she dreamt more deeply than she had since the fall of Corypheus. She had not mastered hardening her heart to a cutting edge, never wanted to. Only stilling her heart for the people. This night was different; this night, was for her.  
She fell into her slumber, allowing herself to feel through the veil. Dreaming in places she could return to, when she felt the memories slipping away. In dreams, she could at least feel the echoes of him. Memories of the crashing sounds of blades and magic clashing against their enemies. Days at camp washing blood out of their armor. Stories around the campfire, the deep drinks when the party returned to Skyhold; she rarely had these moments. Moments where she could forget the world she carried. He was what she knew she couldn’t defeat, nor did she want to. A moment where her heart could break free and all she could feel was his touch.  
Her dreams always end the same, he walks away. The words forcing their way through her – remember what we had was real.  
The worst parting ever written, in any story.   
Was real… echoed into the veil.   
She remembers falling to the ground after he walked away, she never clung to the ground so hard in her life. She just wanted to fall through it. She could have, she could have just let go.   
This night, though, there was nothing but the traces of his touch.  
Orlais was changing. Marquise Briala and Empress Celene are working hard to bring the elves and humans together. A fight masked in broken history, if any were to prevail, they would be the ones. Leliana was correct in thinking that change needed force. However, with the right pieces in play, the people of Orlais did not need much of a push. Celene and Briala became an iconic symbol of the romanticism the people secretly held. Every era needed a Romantic Period and this played well in the Orlesian Courts.  
Finding themselves in the alleyway of Val Royeaux, face-to-face with a mage tied up and kneeling beside Morrigan, obviously distrusting of the human.   
“Inquisitor, I am pleased to see you have made it. I wanted you to see yourself, the threat we face. This mage has vowed to see to your end and has been trying to walk the fade – physically. Silly fool, does not know what he is asking for.”  
“I am not the fool, you are!” The mage’s voice echoes loudly through the warm air as he transforms into a rage demon, lashing out in laughter.  
The group subdue the demon with little difficultly, sending the mage to his death. His body lay on the ground, broken and defeated. Nothing about him sticks out as unusual.   
“He wanted to change, tired of not knowing. Wanting, waiting, if I could just see more. He did not care that it was dangerous.” Cole stood up from the body. “He is gone now.”  
“You see the threat Inquisitor, one that can undo everything. There is a large following of people who want to challenge your very walk in the fade. I am sure you know the dangers of this.”  
“Go on.” The Inquisitor affirms her knowledge of the danger.  
“With secrets held in the fade, many have thought to have brought the spirits forth.  
To question and bind these spirits to them in order to gain the secrets and knowledge they hold.   
However, bringing a spirit forth, on its refusal turns them into demons – as you well know. Since you have walked, physically, in the fade they now aim to do the same. Know that some are not far from achieving this ability.”  
“Breaking into the fade just for knowledge, it seems idealized?”  
“Inquisitor, if we are to ignore this. We could lose more than knowledge. We could lose the foothold you have worked so hard for. Your place challenged, Inquisitor, your place in the very heavens. As for where to start, I have a promising lead.” Morrigan always holds back, while alluding to something deeper; today is no different.  
“I suppose you would be our guide then? Morrigan, Keeper of Sorrows?”  
“Actually, Lethallan, you have a much grander spirit guiding you. However, I can help. For I am not entangled in the welfare of your heart, just your success.”  
“He is healing the hurt. His song is spreading. But there are more with him…and darkness… he … still hurts.”   
“Yes, Cole. Darkness indeed.” Morrigan states with firmness.  
“When do we begin?”  
“Always ready and eager are we? Inquisitor. First we must make a short visit to a friend. For where we are going, we will need more than weapons. If I may speak with you first, before we depart? Please meet me back at Skyhold garden.”

Lavellan wastes no time in meeting with Morrigan, eager for answers or direction.  
Directed to the room holding the eluvian, Morrigan lets on little. “We must speak in private, Inquisitor.” Opening the doorway through the eluvian, the magic’s swirl and they step through meeting once again, in the place where all roads meet.  
“Now that we are alone, I must ask you. What do you know of Solas, Inquisitor?”  
“Solas?” A twist of surprise raises Lavellan’s defenses and curiosity. “Honestly, what I thought I knew, I’m not even sure of.”  
“But, you two were… alone at times.” Alluding to the romance the two elves had shared.  
“Yes, we… had something.” Lavellan serenely states, forcing the word had out of her lips.   
“He removed your vallaslin, did he not? Did it not strike you odd that a mage could just wave his hand and remove a vallaslin?” Watching her closely to gain insight on the elf standing before her.  
“It happened in a private moment, one I not forgotten. It felt like nothing I have ever experienced, much more than I had ever…” Feeling lost in the memory, her focus fades. Shaking her head to pull back to the conversation  
Morrigan watches the elf closely. “Ah, yes, my point - something much more. What would you say if I told you that Solas, was more than he led on?”  
“Honestly, Morrigan, nothing would surprise me.”  
“Surprise is not my intent, nor would I think it of you. But, do you think that maybe, it wasn’t you? Maybe he just couldn’t bare the shame of not telling you and allowing… whatever it was you two had, exist without you knowing the truth?” Morrigan pushes to see if Lavellan still cares for the Elven mage.  
“What do you know of us, or Solas, Morrigan?”  
“I cannot speak for him, but I myself have had to make choices, choices that took me from the ones I loved. I know the regrets, I know now that some sacrifices are unnecessary. I just wonder if he knows.”  
“What would it matter? He is gone, he said it could never be in this world.”  
“And yet you still wait for him. You still look for him. As Cullen has so graciously exasperated, you have yet to seek out the touch of another.”  
“Your point of this, Morrigan? Showing her frustration at the guarded topic, the elf pulls her arms up from their relaxed posture. A gesture to represent that she had enough of this game. The mist rising around the two woman of the used broken roads, floats steady in the air filling the moment, echoing the abandonment she feels inside.  
“I am simply preparing you Inquisitor. If we do meet our old friend. It seems his power has grown, but as the spirit of compassion has so stated, he still feels … something for you.” Her gaze challenging Lavellan’s will, she has no intent to ease it. “He led you to Skyhold and fought by your side until the orb lay shattered. Have you not considered that without the orb, he could not stay?” Provoking the elf unconcerned with her gestures.  
“I have gone over several different variations in my head, Morrigan. It ends the same. He left, without answers, broken… I just…” Tears begin to break through her mask. A sign of retreat from the subject, she will not fight the witch, to hide from what is true.  
Satisfied with her answer, Morrigan closes out this meet. “Well then, it seems like our adventure may bring more to light than just defending your honor.” Morrigan, did not need to hear anymore. She knows the look in the Inquisitor’s eyes. She knows that Lavellan has not stopped loving Solas; undeniably changing the game.   
“Well, then Inquisitor, let us begin.” Morrigan brushes her hand towards the eluvian.   
A gesture to begin an end.  
So many emotions now stirred in the elf, yearning for the freedom from the walls surrounding her; insistently pulling her to a peaceful place. Her spirit desiccated, thirsting for the calming whispers of nature. Few serene places exist for her, as she has marched these lands with her blades drawn. She must remember the peaceful moments, the beauty. Lavellan grabs her mount and heads toward Crestwood, to stand in the place of her last private moment with the one who has stolen her heart. She has much to think about and a great deal more to understand. Her spirit friend Cole follows at a distance, for her hurt has reopened stronger and is calling to the spirit of compassion. His blades, he may have sworn to her, but his friendship he extends freely.  
Walking to the old ruin, taken once more by the memories of the elven mage, Solas.  
Her flesh soaks in the dampness that rests in the air, whirled around by the falls pouring into the ancient bath. She has not visited this ruin since the two elves had stood here marking their end. Though the darkness looms, the moonlight drops down enough for her elven eyes to see. The halla standing with great height facing each other, shadowing the memory of the two elves who faced each other in this place, the path to a place of lost love.  
She remembers their bond; how real it burned within as he pulled her in hard against his shape.  
The way he held her hand, soft with intent and meaning. Leading her here, a moment for just the two of them to share. His eyes spoke to her, deeply as he freed her from the lie she wore on her face. He gave her freedom. Holding onto the love they shared, she upheld her focus on the moment that still weighted heavy in her heart. There is a beauty here, haunting as it might be.   
Images of his fighting form as he guided his staff – pulling and shaping magic. His arms held tight around her in a dance at Halamshiral. She remembers the feel of his lips, soft, causing her face to flush. The way his body wrapped around hers when he kissed her. Though they never had sex, the feelings he left her with remain, intense.   
Everything begins unwinding from memory, she had kept these memories restrained.  
Laying down gently by the side of the water, tracing her hand around the ripples her touch makes, on the once-still form. Her heart is full once again, a feeling she had denied herself since he left. Glowing even brighter than before, she has forgotten what it felt like to allow this love in. But tonight, she hoped even he would feel it.  
Cole, one of many spirit’s caring for the two elves story, watches her spirit unfold.  
Just as Solas once spoke of spirits who leaned against the veil to see the Hero of Ferelden.   
Many spirits would do the same, to feel her love, sadness, and hope. They reveled at the chance to feel her light. Tonight they need not lean; her heart was wide open and rang throughout the veil around them. Her tears soaking the air, and her warmth lighting up the small ruin – so much so – Cole could barely even see her. Now, reminded of how much power was in that feeling.  
“Lathbora viran.” Her delicate whisper into the veil around them.

The spirits stirred that night, some weeping, some glowing, and some smiling.   
A moment many spirits longed to feel forever. A love in its truest form. Imagine the sex some snickered, imagine the day this can be! Oh, let them find each other again! Where has he gone? Is he safe, alone? The spirits echoed, filling the veil with the remnants of longing, left behind as she walked out; making her way back to Skyhold. Her spirit freed again.  
Cole, weeping inside for both of his friends, leaves behind a small parchment; placing it on the spot she just lay.


	2. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morriagn reveals a lost clan and a new recruit brings a special talent to the group and insights into what may come. An embodiment of what elves once were.

The Meeting

 

Recruiting her closest allies, the party ventured out with Morrigan. Meeting with resistance, from the seemingly always present bounty hunters and challengers that wish to make a name for themselves, by defeating the Inquisitions leader. The party keeps their fight sharp and focused. It was odd not face fade rifts anymore. The world seemed eerie without the ghastly battles. Had they truly become used to a world of demon fighting?  
“Boss, please tell me we are going to fight something big.” Iron Bull expressing his excitement of another mission with the Inquisitor Lavellan.  
“I’m just more curious of why we are following the witch?” Dorian always places his pieces in the game.  
“Dorian, tell me, what exactly do you do to keep the look of perfection while in battle?” Morrigan reminds him of her cunning plays.  
“Never mind, Inquisitor. Carry on.” The finely groomed mage replies in self-adoration.  
“So, Morrigan where exactly are we going?”  
“Honestly, I do not know, precisely. But, I do know we will know it, when we get there.” Morrigan openly admits.  
“Wait, so you don’t know either?” Dorian sighs. ”I just love our little adventures sprung out of nowhere, to nowhere.”  
“You see, the person or spirit that we are trying to find is not known to be real, persay. Where we must go is a place no one – until recently – has even known existed.” A playful avoidance, Morrigan steadfast in her refusal to give any information further.  
“So we are chasing a myth? Right when you think there is no sense someone comes along and shows you there is even less.” Iron Bull weights in.  
“Morrigan, can you tell me more of what we are attempting to meet.” Lavellan containing the conversation, says with intent.   
“As we know it? It is a tale spun to keep the fearful away, though I feel a more fitting explanation awaits, and this we shall see.”  
“And how do we know if we find it?”  
“It finds us, Inquisitor.” Morrigan refuses any further discussion. 

Trekking up a mountain path, the land opens to a vast valley. It's imbued with emerald trees, filling the valley like a green sea. Nothing particular stands out beyond the vast forest. Nothing that would draw anyone’s interest in any matter.  
“Ah, a forest. I should have guessed.” Dorian mumbles disclosing the assumption he had secretly made.  
As they walk down a narrow path, the open green lands begin to cover in shade and boast the emerald trees that fill this forest. Entering this dense land, they are overcome with a heavy sensation.   
“This place feels wrong.” Lavellan breathes out, knowing this disturbing magic.  
“They know we are here.” Cole whispers, meaning to warn his friends.  
“They protect this forest well.” Morrigan sets the mood.  
Traveling down the narrow and sparsely worn path, rocks and roots make the terrain unbalanced. The forest tops send shining green light down to meet them, as the wild forest boasts its untouched splendor. For a time, they seem absorbed in this forest, surrounded indefinitely. Glimmers of golden armor seen sparsely along the path, raise awareness. Within moments however, the trees part ways and reveal a small fortress; slight in the valley of large snow-covered mountains. A splendid glow – falling from the peaks – sends light down on the greenery, covering the village. Like a spotlight, lit just for the party of friends. The stone village, worn with age, still standing in beauty among the surrounding forest. Figures stand, carved in stone, tower over the village. Guardians, elven hunters with wolves at their sides.   
“I can’t believe a place like this still stands. Morrigan, how did you find this place?”   
“I find many places in my travels, inquisitor.”   
“I’ve never seen so many elves in one place before.” The Inquisitors eyes scouring the area she had pictured from stories of legend. As if transported in time, the group walks toward the forgotten village. During this age better-off, forgotten, than suffer the fate met by many other clans, left wondering the lands. These elves were different, protecting the area, perhaps for ages; they survived, unknown.  
Morrigan leads the way to her contact, a small elven mage. Dark hair rests long, pulled from his face, his light eyes search over the faces before him; his own free of vallaslin. He introduces himself as, Tirith and leads them to meet with the village Keeper. Inside the fortress, surrounded by the painted images of old elven kin, maybe they are the ancestors or gods? Left to loose interpretation, as this culture has remained lost, to most. Woven baskets still boasting the plants of the roots they protect. Magic still weaving its song. It's alive, it’s not a tomb filled with worn and broken down remains, or a book written in someone else’s hand. This is all real, but how can it be?  
“Andaran atish’an Da’len, it is an honor to have you among us, I am Keeper Beren.” A sense of pride fills the white-haired elf’s eyes who stands adorned in the ancient elven robes of a mage. Though his voice holds age, his face remains youthful and strong.  
“Ma serannas Hahren, I am happy to meet you. It is surprising to see that a place resembling Elvhenan, exists.”  
“The adahlen and durgen hold well to our arla; however, we are losing what protects us, da’len. The humans have found us as you have and we struggle to endure, suledin. It is good that you have shown up as you did. We may need your halani da’len.”   
“Whatever you need, Hahren Beren, all you need is to ask.”  
“Bandits in our woods threaten our survival. Our hunters are disappearing. The magic that held us has become infected, leaving us vulnerable. Any help you can provide would do us much good.”  
“I will do all that I can.”  
“I thank you. Dareth shiral.”  
Clearly they were aware of the parties plan to visit as the elvhen do not look fondly on visitors. Upon exiting, they are met by a worried elf, she asks for help in finding a hunter who has not returned home. “We must show our support, Inquisitor. They hold much knowledge of your people.”   
The group explores the area killing bandits, clearing caves. As they do, they begin to find traces of information. Leads, pointing them in the form of shaky handwritten notes.  
“It seems there is a mage encampment in these woods near. I wonder if that is what is bringing in the bandits?” Lavellan reads one of these notes as she stands from the body of a warrior who had just met her blades.   
“We must look into this.” Morrigan encourages.  
Continuing up the narrow dirt path, they meet with a steep bank, overgrown with foliage. Stone steps still holding their place in the incline. A clearing at the top gives way to a smooth stone surface. Elven carvings line the stone floor that leads to an entrance, a large opening of an unusual cave. The mage’s have indeed secured a well-established encampment. They will put up a heavy fight, so the group must advance with caution. Lavellan cloaks herself in shadow, signaling Morrigan to cast a barrier. Cole turns invisible as he enters his spirit form. Dorian begins to twist the fabrics of the fade, preparing to cast his spell on the enemy. Siphoning its life force to aid them in battle, when it falls to Lavellan’s blades.  
“The air feels dark here.”  
“Indeed.” The simple reply.  
“We should stay mindful.”  
The party undivided on the darkness they feel in the air proceeds closer, cautiously. Met with the realization the entrance to this cave is covered in Lyrium. The blue crystals shine brightly against the reflecting snow. It's as if the mages had covered the cave entrance and inner walls with lyrium.  
“Now that is a lot of lyrium” Iron Bull states cautiously.  
“What in all Thedas do they need that for?” Dorian expresses concern, knowing the power drawn from that much lyrium.  
“It is not safe here. They are cold… wills twisting, voices screaming. No, it's not the way! They don’t listen…I don’t like it here.” Cole twisting his ever moving hands, completes the fears.  
The opening – guarded by a few mages and their guards – marks the beginning of the battle. The fight is challenging, but the party overcomes, without rousing the attention of those inside. Looking for any clues or items pointing to answers, they find the missing hunter, his body lies like a mummified corpse, drained dry. There is obvious dark magic used here, blood magic. Piles of bodies – drained dry – line the interior walls of the cave. The group makes its way into the cave meeting with more force, the rogue elf stabs her blades into the first victim, covering her in his blood. Dorian raises a wall of fire to divide the room. Iron Bull is steadily beating down the largest guard with his massive hammer. Cole, stunning his foe, now cuts him with a quickness unseen. Even with Morrigan’s help, the group struggles through each section as they make their way through the cave, filled with powerful mage’s. Small breaks between fights and random caches allows the party to rest, clean off, and wrap up wounds before meeting the next. This also permits time for the group to look around and take notice of the cave. It resembles a ruin, but covered in the lyrium, making it difficult to see much else. Walking up to the rear of this lyrium enveloped ruin, a large stairway, wide and steep meets their eyes. The steps glisten with a stone never seen before. It sparkles and shines, radiating warmth.   
“Inquisitor, I’d be careful. I do not think that is normal stone, nor steps. There is a magic here. The whispers tell me – Tel garas solasan, Dirthara ma.”  
“Yes, Inquisitor, maybe you should go first.” Dorian says, always hiding his worry in jest.  
Lavellan takes a wary first step, the stone lights up golden sending the magic up into the air. A trembling wave echoes throughout, stirring whatever lay within.  
“Well, she didn’t blow up, that’s good.”  
“Dorian!”  
“Well, it's true.”  
“Someone is calling to me, it hurts. I must get to it.” Cole says as he is pulled at hard now. Making their way up the long stairs, a door meets their gaze, like the ones seen in Solasan Temple. The door already holds the keystones, yet is shut tight.  
“Curious.” Morrigan says enjoying the irony.  
“Well, Morrigan, does the well whisper anything to you now?”  
“Yes, knock.”  
“Knock? ”Lavellan turns her face in the mannerism of question, checking to see if it was jest.  
Morrigan nods, in the suspicious way she does.  
Lavellan looks the door over and uses the handle of her dagger against the stone door.  
A voice echoes with might, “So you dare to come here. To knock on my very door. Very well.” The door opens to a scene none prepared for. Above, in a cage, a bright golden light shining hard and full. Small spirits are falling, like rain, around this large entrapped sphere. Below is a powerful mage, grimly corrupted. Darkness in his eyes, set behind his human form, shows his sickness.  
“What is going on here?” Lavellan shouts out.  
“Pretender, you have come too late! With the power I am about to gain, you will never stop me from reaching the fade. I will walk among her kind and they will give me the secrets I wish for or perish.”  
“Ar tu na'lin emma mi. This ends now!” The battle cry answered by her companions.  
The fight does not come with ease, even for the party whose skills dominate the otherworldly. Magic spells constantly striking the mage, blades slicing, twisting, and stabbing; everyone at their limit, facing death. As a moment allows pause, Iron Bull knocks the Mage into a wall, crumbling behind the dazed mage, revealing a lever. Abruptly in a hushed moment, the mage becomes trapped in a glowing light, frozen but not by ice.  
“Inquisitor, get to the lever” Morrigan shouts!  
Pulling down on the heavy lever, the cage opens, releasing the light above. The light comes down hard on the trapped mage. Shaking the entire cave and swallowing the corrupted, spirit and all. For a moment the light sits in stillness, before becoming absorbed into a slight female frame. The elf’s long glowing hair turns from golden to white. Her skin, to a brilliant pale, and her eyes no longer shine gold, but return to a deep dark gray. A grey that stir the feelings deep inside those who look into them.  
“Ir tel'him … then! Thank you”. Her voice like a sweet whisper.  
She stands, small, silk robes trimmed with gold wrap around her tiny frame, in the manner of royalty, letting just a slight view of her golden armor underneath shine through. Her features show a youthful beauty as her ears expose her race, pointing out of her white hair.  
“Holy Shit! It's a…woman…or elf…or…person.” Bull states no longer able to contain his thought.   
“She is happier now.” Coles face reflects the delight he has in this moment.  
“Are you, a spirit?” Trying to grab at some clarity, Lavellan’s word’s lost to the moment.  
“This is the one we came for.” Morrigan’s astonishment is clear as her face holds the look of adoration for what now stands before them all.  
“Yes, Keeper of Sorrow, I am glad you heard my calls.” Meek and simple, the elf breaks her silence.  
“Indeed.” Morrigan still looking on as if she just met the Maker. These moments always please and excite Morrigan, her joy is ill kept, like a child given a gift.   
“Compassion, I am sorry they blocked you, come here to me.” Cole walks over to this mysterious elf, without fear. Her hand placed on his face, she moves to place her forehead on his, barely reaching from her tiptoes, Cole bends to meet her. A soft light leaves her and lightens his total being.   
“There, it will be harder for them to control or block you.” She whispers in a calming motion.  
“I… I can hear. More… I can feel, like it's real with form. I can move it!” Coles says with a tone of excitement! “Thank you.” A heartfelt appreciation expressed.  
“You have been weak, holding this world as you do, but we can exist and still be strong here.”  
“So you are a spirit like Cole?” Lavellan asks again, grasping for an explanation.  
“My existence is not so easily defined, Lethallan. We are all spirits and also with form. So, I am more like you, than I am a spirit. I hold the blood of ages, I hold the song our people once sung. I can exist physically in this world for as long as needed; as well soften my physical and join with my people in spirit. I am here and there, above and below.” Her voice like a song you can’t stop listening to, soothing and strong.   
“And so tiny, too.” Bull says with endearment.  
“We are meeting an ancient being and you focus on is how tiny she is?” Groaning over his giant friends comment. Dorian rarely mutes his point on any topic.  
“I am called, Muin.” She takes a bow in delicate grace. Returning to her warrior disposition she makes sensible demands in a surprisingly unexpected command. “I must leave this place, my presence once protected, now puts the people in danger. I fear more may come.”  
“We would be honored to have you join us, Muin.”  
Before the group departs, Muin accompanies the group in releasing the control of the wards and barriers set around the valley, repowering them with her light. As she casts the last one, the village disappears into the forest, against the mountain. “Our people are safe again.” Her ancient voice like a blessing.

(Muin joins your group. Her talents include, a mixture of dual blade, stealth, and magic healer/destruction with light. She does not need a staff for her ability, but can switch between staff and blade or cast in one hand and blade in the other.)


	3. The Forgotten Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Inquisitors journey begins, memories are stirred within her.  
> Their new companion reveals what she has guarded, as Morrigan  
> helps reveal a history connected to Lavellan.

The Forgotten Door

Skyhold stands in a wholly repaired splendor. Vibrant and filled with such variety of life. Muin looks on in astonishment as they ride up to the ancient Keep. Her silence has remained since they left the forest. Her strength had been drained from the battle placed on her life. Taking leave, the group found their way to each of their comforts at Skyhold. Giving Muin rest, Levallan cannot help but sense a familiar feeling stirring within her as if she has known this elf.

“Muin, it is an honor to have you here at Skyhold.”  
“Ma serannas Lethallan. Ma melava halani. It’s as beautiful as I remember, you have done well to bring the beauty back. I am sorry it still holds sorrow for you, Lethallan.”  
“You’ve been here before?”   
“Many of us know of Tarasyl'an Te'las, though it has been ages since elvhen lived here.”  
“Did you always live there?”   
“The temple was my place of duty, protecting what it held while the Lady of the Well kept us. Most of my troops still roam the forest and keep the people hidden. Listening to the whispers of old, I have felt and watched through the fade what has happened to our lands. It has brought us all great sorrow."   
“You must have so much knowledge, I honestly did not think I’d ever find… anyone.”  
“You have walked with us for longer than you know, Lethallan. Looked after carefully, guarded. Answers will come as they should, we cannot force these matters; it is halam'shivanas. I know your calling and I will help guide you through. Other than saying this, I am not the one who holds the answers you seek, da'vhenan. Mala suledin nadas.”   
“I understand, I think.”  
“There is much to do, Lethallan. You will have answers, Dareth Shrial.”

Retreating to her quarters that tower over all of Skyhold, filled with many thoughts, much rests on her mind. From her balcony, she can lose herself. This place has become her home. It has kept her grounded. Nothing quite fills the elf’s heart, as much as waking up the old ruins of her people. Her people, a stimulating thought. “I still don’t even know them, yet I will fight if that’s what it takes. It is nice to be back, Skyhold.” She whispers into the mountain air. Longing for her dreams now, she sips her tea remembering the look on the elf’s face, while he gulped down the drink that kept him from sleep. Images she found endearing. Memories, overflow around her when she is back at Skyhold. How can they not? The fire is blazing its warmth now as the elf is nodding off, still wrapped in her armor, she slumps to the floor resting her folded arms on her bedside; laying her head to rest, too tired to care. “Come to me, ma sa'lath.”  
Reaching out of her form, falling into the fade – the only place she can be her truest self; while wondering in dreams. She has met with spirits along her walks, glowing brightly to see her. Some walk with her asking questions of her and the world she shapes. She does not mind the company in dreams and the same kindness she shares with her people, she shares with the spirits she meets. But, her journey remains for one reason – her heart.   
Now walking, in dream, she is facing the cave where they rescued Muin. The cave fades taking on its previous form – from the time before – without lyrium. Now standing in bright light showing the beauty it once held over the land. Walking up the same glowing golden steps she awoke before, met with a feeling deep and pure, filled with love, and cloaked sorrow. She knows this feeling.  
“Emma lath” the familiar voice whispers.  
“Ma vhenan?” She speaks softly, trying to contain her pounding hope.  
“You are getting closer, you must keep going. You must wake up.”  
She starts to stir, trying to hold on to the dream, “ma'arlath.” The voice fades, leaving her with a full chest and aching body, forced from the dream. She finds herself, shed of the armor and comfortably placed under her blankets. No longer confused by waking up in the presumably unexplained; she is learning to see the gesture it is. Finding peace and purity in these moments, she finds no fear in what many others may find haunting. Not to say she does not have physical needs; to her it's a pilgrimage, a show of her devotion to the one who has her heart. Nothing unusual for the elven kin, matters of love are not based on mere physical actions. Awaiting the day where he will undress her and take her for his own, a natural mind-set. A secret to keep, in her heart.  
Reporting in, she discusses the next step in the plans with Morrigan and her three advisers.  
“We need to find those who are hunting the secrets, Inquisitor. Whatever they are planning, it would not be wise to allow them time to continue.” Morrigan firmly states.   
“I agree, Morrigan. What leads do we have?”  
“Right now? Very little. If word has spread that you have destroyed one of these factions? I am sure more will open. They will go into deeper hiding, which means they have to move.”  
“Which means, I will have my spies everywhere, including places we never thought to search.” Leliana exposes her sly posture. “Following their movements will give us the advantage.”  
A quiet knock interrupts the moment, the advisers look at one another in question.  
“Someone should answer that, yes?” Morrigan states in her undercutting way.  
Lavellan welcomes in the small elf, who has obviously evaded the guards. Muin walks in uneasy in posture. Everything unfamiliar and new. She guards herself heavy.  
“I am tasked with helping you. We know we cannot face this alone. Though, not unusual for people of this time to try assaulting the heavens. Destroying the memories of spirits who carry knowledge? This poses risk to everything my people have fought hard protecting. We have gained strength above, but we need more below, here.” Focused on her task, not even a moment of introduction to the three advisers standing in the room. Cullen looks her over finding much respect in her focus to duty. Josephine admires the way she has tied her hair and the lovely silk that mark her as royalty. Leliana watches closely, searching the elf with her gaze.  
“Do you know of something that can help us, Muin?” The Inquisitor asks in calm mind.  
“Yes, Lethallan. Not here, however. Please meet me where our feet meet soil, Keeper of Sorrow please join us.”   
“We will keep working on any leads on our end, Inquisitor.” Cullen voices the sentiments of the counsel as one commander would in the presence of another.  
Meeting Morrigan and Muin in the gardens, Lavellan is lead to the eluvian that Muin holds.  
“This door long forgotten as well as its magic. The magic that guards it keeps it safe. My magic, however, they will seek out, though I know my fight well."  
“I understand everything you are Muin, we will see to your protection.”  
Casting her charge, the key to this door, opens the way for the three women to step through. Leading into a section of the crossroads, much the same as the area the other eluvian leads to, abandoned and ethereal.  
“Fascinating, I know this place,” Morrigan looks around in comfort, “This is good, we are closer…t …something.”   
“To something?” Lavellan looks with confusion.   
“Yes, we are. Once these roads lit up with greetings, the emptiness brings much sorrow.” Muin settles the mood. “We are closer to the place we need; my passage no longer leads there.” Morrigan joins in answer allowing Lavellan in on the purpose of her visit.   
“There is a door which will lead us to the one with answers; though hidden well, finding them will prove challenging, though we must try. For there we will find answers most intriguing.” Morrigan’s eyes deliver the cunning taunt at Lavellan’s many remaining questions.   
“There is something else, we must tell you Inquisitor. It is about you.”   
“About me?” Her curiosity expressed in an alarming way as the elf folds her arms.  
“Yes, well specifically, your blood.” Morrigan looks at Lavellan, trusting that this is the right time to tell her. “It was no accident your clan sent you to the Temple of Sacred Ashes when you were. Your Keeper was charged with protecting you. In the case the day came, that we would be facing a time of possible peace for your people. You are the last born with the song of Muin's kin, though not completely one of the old kin. Your mother, a dalish healer cast out by her clan. Your father, he comes from Muin’s clan, he once was a guardian who felt the pressures to not let his people fade. He spent many years searching for another elf, until he came across your mother searching for shelter. Their love grew and you were brought into the magic. This, giving you blood of the old and new, allowed you to be the eyes the people needed.   
“So, I’m a half-blood? Sent as a messenger?” Lavellan trying to understand.  
“We cannot walk freely as you can, Lavellan. Our people have to stay hidden in the magic or our life fades as a mortal. We do not have the choice you have, even as you still carry a piece of our song. Do you understand?” Muin makes clear the importance.   
“What will happen now that you are with us?” Lavellan questions her risk.   
“I carry the gift of light, the blood of ages; I hold the song.” Giving a slight explanation of her ability, with no other reply. “It is why you dream in the fade and feel the veil easily. The enemy awaiting has figured this out; their perfect sacrifice, is you.”  
“Even without the magic, I am the key once again?”   
“By magically increasing your old blood they can access the fade, physically as you have.” Muin tells her elven friend. “As they can with us, but you they know of and yearn to destroy.”  
“Corypheus never discovered this?” Lavellan expresses in disbelief.  
“No, he did not. If truth be told, not all secrets were at his disposal.”   
Morrigan leads on as if she knows more. Something strange hides behind her mask, something that is pulling at Lavellan’s will. It's nurturing and kind, but brash like a mother's scold. Pulling herself back to the conversation, Muin’s words come back into focus. “We have not all gone and you can help us reach the ones who are hidden in the beyond. You are the remaining hope for our people's return here. Without you, all will remain hunted and eventually killed."  
“So you see now why protecting you, keeping you from any human contact before was so important. As well, keeping you in the fold of the Inquisition, rather than preserving your heart?” Morrigan eyes the Inquisitor causing her spirit to stir. The witches magic working for answers.   
“Does she know?” Muin asks.  
“Do I know what?” Lavellan demands as one with concern.  
“No, not yet, but she will soon enough.” Morrigan says with confidence.   
“I suppose neither of you are going to explain.” Lavellan says shaking her head in frustration.  
“It is not for us to reveal. But no matter, in time Inquisitor, you will have answers.”   
Lavellan falls to silence knowing that arguing will not bring further answers. At the least, with this new knowledge, she has gained more understanding. The three women leave the protected roads with much to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialog is only for female elf who romanced Solas.  
> I am working on dialog for those who did not, as well.  
> I will create another source for this once I am finished.  
> 


	4. In Service, No Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback reveals that Solas memory  
> has not been pulled completely from Lavellan.  
> A dialog shadowing the history of the elven mage.

In Service, No Freedom

 

After all were safe, locked away; the wolf had little reason to roam. Finally he could rest. He set himself into his slumber, unknowing what impact he leaves behind. Everyone except Mythal, his companion. She fell to the slaughter. Her need for victory on those who came to overthrow their rebellion from the ancient elves, had outgrown her own strength. In her last moments, her last command echoed long and hard: “Get them to safety!”  
For so long he walked in dreams, unable to awaken. He watched as the elves fell from grace. It angered him. All that she did to save them. This is how they repay her? They caused this, he would snarl in his memory. He began befriending spirits and holding tightly to the memory of the world, before all became lost to the ancient elves. He spent years wondering the fade, unable to join the physical world. As each year passed, he fell more and more into a rage about his people as they spun his tale into the Dread Wolf. He watched what they were becoming as they fell from the light of the ancient ones. Old tales became faith, old stories become truths. There were no other voices on the matters, one-sided tales told to make the elves fear. He watched as they refused to let go of pride and as each one fell, fighting. He watched as the history faded away and his people became divided. Hurt and anger grew, toward those he vowed to protect. Losing faith in all the elves were and what they had become.  
After some time, he was no longer angry. He was void. Darkness had filled his spirit. He no longer wished to see the fate of the world without the knowledge they alone held. His intent, was to protect his own from what was to come. How could he know his decision would affect the future in such a way? He thought the people would see, would understand, and would come to their senses. In his rebellion, he thought they would see what their ways chased away and what it wrought. He thought it would make them all see the truth. That they would lay down their arms returning to the song. But they didn’t, they fell. Filled with pride.  
Time had went on below, warring never ending. Corruption filled the lands. An infection brought into the fade, lurking demons and corrupted memories lingered. This tainted vein had spread far enough to stir the elf, rustled from his slumber. In his weakened state, he began to rise. Checking on the key – the foci – he guarded. The ancient elf met with something stronger than himself. A blighted mage, feasted and fed on the red vein, waiting for this moment. As he had awoken, the magic stirred, leading the blighted one right to his location. He could not stop the blighted mage whose face once laid buried in the sickness. He tried in his weakened state to hold the magic, in the last moments he gave the orb over, for he was not strong enough to keep it from the corrupted spirits grasp. Never once believing he could wield the magic.  
Opening the orb awoke the elf fully, but without the others, who was he? A wolf left to protect what? These dalish who polluted the old ways? He knew he must see what happened with this orb. Only it mattered. Falling into his physical form, the elf’s feet touched the surface for the first time in ages. The world pulled at him, making it difficult to adjust. The magic was close and it helped guide him through. The wolves were out to play again. Long ran off by the humans and their Marobi. Some however, corrupted by the blighted fool who now wields his people's magic.  
They did not surround him in honor, as the other wolves would have. They surround him with the intent, in some ironic twist, to devour him. But, his magic was alive and he laid the pack down with a simple burst. Bending down, he cursed the demon who would corrupt such loyal beings. Taking for himself, the jawbone of the beast who led the pack. Cleaning it, the mage casts his spell. It would serve as a tool, in reminder to what comes to those who cross the Dread Wolf. His intent solidified in that moment.  
Making his way towards the stirring power of the orb. Arriving at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, a place holding the magic of old. A meeting was taking place, a chance for peace to come between the mages and those who sought to control them, enslave them. The meet bringing Mages, Templars, and many leaders to discuss the mage rebellion. He held hope that even though the blighted one meant to open the orb, the power that lay within would consume the corrupted and he could regain control of his orb. But, fate never followers orders. Nor, acts in a way that benefits one person.  
An explosion rang throughout the lands. The power swept out for a moment to be drawn back in, just as quickly. The veil opened a hole in the sky. Tears were forming everywhere. Spirits begging to not leave, forced out of these rifts and corrupted. Demons filled the area. Through the dust and ash, he heard a voice pounding through.  
“Get her to Haven, NOW!” Her voice was in command.  
The troops struggled to carry the body through the destruction, while others were fighting the demons that came forth. Catching a glimpse of the magic, trailing off the limp hand he knew he had to act. Composing his story, he entered the town of Haven. No one knew what to do. Cassandra was pacing in anger. Leliana was commanding her spies to find anything on what happened. Cullen was busy commanding and fighting the demons with his men. The town’s people were cowering, crying, broken from the loss. Confusion and fear consumed the thoughts off all. He offered his help and was let in, although not trusted. He was to aid Adan, the apothecary.  
Walking in, caught by surprise, in front of him lie a tiny female elf. She was not well, not waking and she held the mark of this magic in her tiny hand. No one knew what to do. They were in fear of mages and magic. Their thoughts rang out. Cassandra ordered close watch and the moment she stirs, detained for the death of The Divine Justina. He spent his time studying her, the mark, everything! He needed answers for this world, only knowing remnants of what the fade had echoed. He had no clear answers. Solas gathered his thoughts and went out with Cassandra and her prisoner Varric, a child of the stone. He had to try to help close the rifts, left in the wake. But, try as he may, his power was not strong enough. “Just one more try, I must close this.” He thought. Confusion and frustration grew in everyone. His intent was dark, he woke to avenge. Coming up over the hill, a small frame bursts through the demon he was attacking. Her knives thrust hard down on the demon. In a second, he sees her hand glow brightly, he grabs it… the first knowing touch. Together, hand on hand, they close the rift with a mere gesture. Changed, in that moment he saw a dream become real, one that continued to impress him. A spirit he never thought to find.  
Those days still fresh in his mind. Her beauty struck him the moment he saw her lying on the small bed in Haven. Many hours watching her and the rare creature she was, able to hold this powerful magic. He still dreams of her, just as he did in the first days of their meeting. Still distracted by her, as he was the year before. He had never imagined to meet an elf with no intent for vengeance or power. Most elves had become animalistic in their lust for revenge on the shemlen. Maybe it was her naivety in never having any experience beyond her clan. In short time, she gained the respect and awe of all those who were a part of her world, the world she mended. The world, that suffered because of his vulnerability, in a bittersweet twist of irony, she could fix.  
The last thoughts of his companion Mythal was all that had echoed inside him, until fate brought her. She was now what he had to protect, as she held the ancient magic in her hand. She was different from the other dalish. A pure spirit, protected from the Shemlen and their teachings. Nurtured in a clan who tried to remember what once was. He allowed himself to feel more than companionship with her. She was everything he had suffered for and what his heart severely needed. She made him question his pride. She pulled at him, beckoned him to be free.  
It is not as if he did not dream this. His pride was in his people. She was something different. Old and new crashing together. She changed him, like everything around her, she gave him hope – belief. But, in his misfortune, he had to let her go. It was his Halam'shivanas. He still had work to do.  
Watching her, in moments when he can quiet the voices that he protects now.  
It is no easy task, but he knows he can always find himself when he thinks of her.  
He can walk in her dreams easily now, for his consumption of Mythal has changed his song.  
She does not know that feeling is him. He thinks this much kinder, for he has grown to respect her. On the nights when her soul is aching like deep tears of the flesh, he will send comforts and gently lay her to sleep. Whispering the sweet memories they had, so she knows never to forget how real they were. She hunts like the wolf, always on his trail. He remains fascinated with her. If not just to remind himself – the righteous can overcome. She was real, the most real he had seen in ages. With her, he found himself. He was free and she was his enansal. The most loving gift he can give her – freedom.

Her face in his hands, her body tightly pressed on his. Feeling the beating her heart on his, longing filled the fade around him, spirits stir. He wanted her, he meant to take her in that moment. His lust caught up deep. For one moment, he could feel happy with her in eternity. But, his master’s call, he is not free. He had been selfish. He must return to them. “Ar lasa mala revas.” His way of telling her how much he loved her. He gave her everything he couldn’t be – free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used a rogue. I may write another variation with the slight differences of the mage, later. :)


	5. More to Uncover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As more pieces of the story come together, Lavellan exposes her feelings of connection to  
> the stories of the Dread Wolf as she heads the most powerful faction to come from the rebel Inquisition.  
> Dwarven history becomes part of the play. Leading to the next phase in their journey.

More to Uncover

 

Lavellan had enjoyed the days where she was out with her companions, meeting the fight. Since the fall of Corypheus, she had grown tired of playing the part of figurehead in the politics of the Shemlen. She had attended a few events at Halamshiral, most attending quite disappointed that they did not see her dance, as stories of her dance with the Duchess still rumored about. They would whisper, “A dance with the Inquisitor is your dance of death.” Wishing they had been so clever to have thought of it themselves. She liked the rumors, as they kept her from having to explain herself. Wearing a mask, was her favorite part of the charade. Josephine was exceptional at twisting the rumors to keep Lavellan’s reputation in the light. Distracting from all the bloodstained brutality it took to shape a world such as theirs, especially since she was a dalish elf, or knife-ear. Lavellan may have led with purity, but purity was bloody.  
She never stopped to think about every life that she had taken. The action was a means to an end as her people’s fate lingers with every breath. Once a bolstering society, now they dwindle in struggle. Any price was worth a chance for elves to regain freedom, another sentiment hidden behind her mask. A rebellious spirit fighting for freedom, never seen as a good cause in the human society that still hold the power in Thedas. Nor, in elven society warning the children with stories of Fen’Herel. With the weight of an entire kingdom on her mind, being back in the hunt became more welcomed than ever.   
Cassandra had received word of the recent events and is now pacing the halls of Skyhold. Waiting on the Inquisitor Lavellan to meet with her. Walking in, she smiles in a proud way, thinking of how much Cassandra hates hats and how she now stands as Divine.  
“You should have come for me sooner.” She demanded in her endearing way.  
“We sent word immediately, Cassandra.”  
“Well, you need faster messengers, then.” She scolded. “Let’s head to the war room, I’m eager to rid these robes. Leliana has news.” Before making it to meet with the others, the two are interrupted by a familiar voice.  
“And to think, you started this all without me?”  
“Varric?” Cassandra turned in surprise to face the dwarf.  
“So tell me Divine, do your followers know our little secret?” Waving a copy of his new series.  
“When I asked for a copy, I did not mean for you to bring it personally.” Irritation marked her voice.  
“Will you two ever just make up?” The Inquisitor smirked.  
“So Varric, what brings you back from the Free Marches?” Cassandra still relentless with the dwarf, even after all this time.  
“Let’s just say a little birdy told me and I just had to find out, if it were all true. I mean, stories involving an ancient sentinel and crazed mages trying to break into the fade? Sounded like total garbage, I just had to see myself.” Varric nodded provoking the conversation.  
“Just what we need, more reason for you to smut up our journeys.” Cassandra’s sigh covering the relief she had seeing their old friend, the storyteller. “Leliana sent word, didn’t she?”  
“Oh you know you are glad to see me, Divine. Plus, you never know. I might be useful.” Varric’s smirk taunts at his old friend. Though they would never admit their relationship, the two had grown on each other in a manner that rivaling siblings usually hold.  
“You are always welcome Varric.” The Inquisitor takes a slight bow knowing it will annoy Cassandra.  
“You two are just trouble.” The snide remark comes with her well-known disgruntled noises.  
The war room is already alive with discussion. The advisers exchanging the new leads and connections supporting the groups that are responsible for corrupting the mages.  
“Why is it always the Templars corrupting the purpose?” Cassandra shows her irritation at the feud that holds little to no purpose.  
“Because we gave them power to do so.” Leliana’s jeer showing her impatience as well.  
“We knew there would be resistance.”  
“Cleaning up the charges between the Mages and Templars is one of many fights. We also struggle to find a place for the elves. Many are still resistant and the elves untrusting.” Leliana looks over to Cullen always lost in thought.  
“Well, when vowed to a cause that changes, there is bound to be opposition. Giving the proper tools would aid this transition.” The force in the military commander’s voice urgent on the minds of the Inquisition leaders.  
“I could reinforce our position on the matter, they should know we stand firmly behind this.” A well placed suggestion from Josephine.  
“Yes, we must lend the Inquisitions voice loudly to this issue.”  
“The elves need land, a place where they can rebuild.” The Inquisitor opens the next political web they must untangle.  
“I believe Celene and Briala are working on that now. We should meet with them soon.”  
“Well, I hope I can at least wear a dress this time, if I need to dance.” The Inquisitors smirk poking at the distaste she had for her last attire provided for such an affair.  
“You haven’t lost your sense of humor at least.” Cassandra nods.  
“You can thank Sera for encouraging that and for the countless other pranks going on.” Josephine jabs.  
“To work then?” Cullen says, trying to avoid discussion of resent ploys he may or may not have had a hand in. Though many of them do not even try to understand Sera at this point, they all covertly enjoy having her little – secret revealing – pranks around.  
Intending to catch up with Varric, over a game of Wicked Grace, Lavellan is met by Muin and Morrigan. Interrupting the Inquisitors plan as she enters the Great Hall; still busy and bursting with life, a warm vision of the bustling community that has grown there.  
“Inquisitor, we have news.” Morrigan takes the lead.  
The two elves walk through the garden with the mage to the eluvian Muin protects.  
“At least someone is filling these roads with voices,” Lavellan’s smile showing the peace she finds in the abandoned roads.  
“Indeed.” Morrigan returns the sentiment.  
Muin remains silent, for her thoughts are restless. “We have to get to them.” She says breaking the silence.  
“Get to whom, Muin?”  
“Without them our people will not listen, we need their voices to help lead the elves.” Muin, deeply in thought begins to unwind. “It is not just below Lethallan, it's above too. Nothing will work if we don’t have both working together.”  
“We indeed need the works of both and to get above, we need to go deeper.” Morrigan states in the way of leading up to her point. “We need to meet with the Dwarves.” Morrigan lets on more.  
“The Dwarves?” A look of surprise on Lavellan’s face, not expecting the conversations turn.  
“Indeed, many years ago, before the humans came to this land, the elves and dwarves ruled this land. Neither had any reason to cross. They just existed. During the first invasion, they made a pact, together they could protect.” Morrigan revealing a history rarely spoken of.  
“But, it didn’t work?” The Inquisitor argued, curious about the failure.  
“For reasons we do not know, they were tricked, given orders that led them away from one another. Never knowing, blood spilt and the dwarves went further underground refusing to help. They clung to their stone and refused to budge bringing a curse to their kind. Turning their backs on those they swore to fight side-by-side with. Others felt a curse was brought by the elves as vengeance.” Morrigan explained.  
“Who would have tricked them?” Lavellan’s surprise forcing the question.  
“Believed to be the first act that lead to the elven rebellion. Trickery is a tool, long used.” Morrigan sharply extends her reach into Lavellan, stirring her memory. Reminding her of her first act seen as rebellion against the chantry. One that further pushed along the Inquisition.  
“You mean elves tricked the dwarves away from an alliance?” The Inquisitor asked in confusion.  
“There are those who became obsessed with their cause. Seeking the glory and power for themselves; leading our kind away from the skies.” Muin stated softly, not completing the entire story.   
“They used the alliance for their own purpose then?” Lavellan says starting to show her frustration.  
“Many tried to reestablish the connection. But, they were no longer trusted and the dwarves. Not understanding the elves, dreams, spirits, they just turned their hearts back to the stone. Their comfort and focus remained on their own protection. How could they trust the rebellion? As they were already deceived.”   
“An elven rebellion? You mean against other elves?” Searching for more clarity the words marking her interest.  
“Yes, a rebellion lasting a thousand years or more, it was before my time.” Muin lets out a sense of how long ago this all began. “Not all who gain power of a god does what is best for all. Many seek to right wrongs personally done to them, no matter the cost. This is true for any race.”  
“You mean personal vendettas shaped the rebellion? Like Corypheus.” Lavellan begins connecting the pieces.   
“Yes, Corypheus sought to gain power and when refused, he vowed to take it, any way he could. After he began to question the gods himself.” Morrigan answering the pressing question, hoping it serves as a reminder to Lavellan. “Passion is a strong motivator.” The mage focuses her gaze even harder at Lavellan’s will.   
Muin redirects the conversation back to what needs addressing in this moment, challenging the witch’s intent. “The dwarves are powerful, their aid could have helped win the rebellion. Those that sought destruction turned the minds and alliances of the dwarves to aid the humans.” Revealing the great loss, Muin continues. “With the support of the dwarves lost, our kind retreated. Hiding away until yet another war stirred, in the volatile state left to all.”  
Morrigan meets the play and eases her gaze into Lavellan, seeing the direction Muin guides the information. “Like the father who refused to let the child play in the field, in fear that something could happen to the child. As the child grows, it does not understand the risks and makes foolish choices out of lack of understanding.” Morrigan eases the direction further. “When the next war met the elves, they tried to gain aid, but the dwarves who tried to help, were killed. As were those trying to flee the mighty human marches. Tired of the fighting perhaps, coupled with the lack of understanding, sent some on a warpath of protection. Not seeing much else. As they began to fall, the gods were locked away, all of them. It is believed they all slumber now.” Morrigan paints the picture in a clear enough way for the dalish to feel familiar.  
“Fen’Harel…” Lavellan whispered.  
“Yes, as the dalish call him, The Dread Wolf. Though, unwise to believe every tale of the Dread Wolf. His story remains to be speculation, written in a time of great distress and confusion. The tales twisted by the shemlen chantry and corrupted to keep the remaining elves in fear.” Muin explains, keeping the lore in its place, she shows her masked knowledge. “Rebuilding an alliance seems impossible, but the dwarves hold secrets, secrets that could be useful, if we contact those connected to the ancient stones.” Muin ends the attempts for Morrigan to influence the story any further.  
“So, you said we have a contact with these dwarves?” Lavellan asks.  
“Indeed, we must meet with them soon, for their travel to the surface is a risky one.” Morrigan states firmly. “Muin, I hope you will go with Lavellan, your voice needed.” Morrigan directs.  
“Ma nuvenin.” Muin's voice comes forth more hard and firm with little trace of the softness she is.  
Lavellan returns to her quarters that night, in hopes to get some peaceful sleep before her journey. She feels a connection to the wolf so many fear, for she walks that same feared path. She is the leader of the largest faction to support a rebellion in ages, her hunt and prowess has tricked many. She plays the game well. Though there is nothing enjoyable about taking lives, the purpose keeps her focused. It is impressive to watch as her companions work their play, to each of their strengths. The pieces they have in place, built favor for this rebel cause. Companions like Sera or Cole, lending their skills to pranks and mending. Both doing the goodwill in their own ways, even though it sometimes means it may get a little bloody. It is still for good cause…

For good cause…trickery seen for what it is. A means to an end that also opens a beginning… Fading off to dream. So many voices singing her a song, spinning a story, echoing in the veil. “His beginning is struggle, not meant this way, not supposed to happen like this.”   
“He was wrong, he became dark. He lost everything. He cannot lose everyone to this. He must help them now, he cannot be free.”   
“I must leave them all. I must walk this path alone. I was selfish.”   
“He feels he must walk alone in his shame. But he is not alone, he is never alone. He carries them, protects them, it is his burden alone…”  
“It's not right, not even here.”  
“It would be kinder in the long run, but to lose you.”  
“I have distracted you from your duties.”  
“You will have answers.”  
“Remember what we had was real…”   
“ma'arlath ma vhenan.”  
Cole sits by her while she dreams, reminding the voices to sing of his love for her. It keeps her happy, it keeps her going. This Cole understands now.


	6. A Long Way Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting with the dwarves sends the group into the desert lands.  
> Uncovering forgotten tombs that will lead to a secret held far too long.  
> Three Shaper's reveal themselves.  
> Muin begins to show her use to the companions who  
> are now intrigued by the elf.

A Long Way down

Walking up to the old ruin, the veil is bursting with traced whispers. He strolls over to the place she once lie, heavy in his heart. Bending to get the message the spirit left. A shadow of her figure still marks the ground. He can see how brightly she shown. Soaking in feelings of her love, it pulses though. Falling into himself for a moment, putting away the old gods. Pulled from the fade, he breathes in every moment and lets it fill him. Nothing else is there in this moment, beyond this dream. Reading the note that Cole left, his spirit lit up, glowing blue in aura.

I never wanted to say goodbye, so I didn’t.   
I still feel his touch. I will never FORGET.   
Leading me to sites long-lost and opening my mind,  
he left knowledge I had felt in aging whispers.  
Giving me freedom, he became a part of me, eternally.   
He had been such a good friend, how could I abandon him now?

Scribbled at the bottom, words not fully formed, but enough for the mage to make out:  
I can help – Cole

The elf sits in this place for a moment longer. Traces of her love still surprising him. What dalish falls in love with the Dread Wolf? The lone apostate.  
Inquisitor, there is something I should tell you before we go meet with these Dwarves.  
“What is it Varric?”   
“Dwarves are stubborn and hold to their traditions harder than their alliances. Not like they will eat your head off, but they just… hold tradition high, if you get what I’m saying.”  
“I understand Varric, I do not intend to go there and expect anything less.”   
“Yeah, well if you can let Morrigan in on that sentiment that would be great.”   
“You worry about Morrigan, there is some history between you two?”   
“Everyone, who is anyone, has history with Morrigan.”   
“Then you two have something in Common.” Lavellan smirks.   
“I guess you’re right. Well, just tell me when you are ready to leave.” Nothing said will put Varric in any state of ease.  
The land lays hollow and vast, with a sky holding heavy and deep, bursting with stars. A small entrance – covered by olden vines – marks the stone standing before them. Just as marked on their map, by Scout Harding back at the forward camp. The stone, simple, smooth large blocks shaping a squared archway; not decorated, but in place. The group enters, meeting with an open stone room. Torches mark the entrances, carved into each facing side of the room, providing the light in the room. Within moments they are met by three dwarves dressed as scouts. The one in the middle boasts a terrible beard and said nothing, the silence the same with the other two. Passing Lavellan a scroll, he nods and they turned and walk back into the stone.  
“Well that went better than I expected.” Morrigan shows her relief.   
Varric looks over at her in his own ease, though still concerned about what they passed over.  
“Is it normal for the dwarves to remain silent?" Confused by such a brief meeting, Lavellan prying at her companions for answers.  
“Depends on the dwarf and circumstance.” Varric adds in his knowledge. “It seems that whatever they passed you, they dared not even speak of it. They can be very literal.” Varric, unable to translate much of the ancient texts, passes them over.   
“Our people at Skyhold can help.” Lavellan says with haste.  
Exiting the stone, a bandit force poses its threat. They are not typical bandits or mercenaries that they meet in this battle. They seem a bit, out-of-place. On the body of the leader, now lying lifeless at Lavellan’s feet, a note reads: Follow them, take her alive and bring this Inquisitor to me. – Commander Thrull.  
“Commander Thrull?” Varric comments with a sense of sarcasm in his tone.  
“It seems we have a lead for Leliana’s people to look into” Lavellan replies.  
Back at Skyhold, Lavellan makes her way to the war room eager to have the scrolls transcribed.  
“We need these translated, urgently.” The documents now in the hands of Josephine.   
“Inquisitor, Blackwell is requesting to lead some charges out to the factions of mages we have found. We can send along scouts to bring back any information found that could lead us to whomever is leading this madness.” Cullen voices the matter in need of approval, while they look over the war table deciding the next matter to lend their attention to.   
“Any word from Empress Celene yet?” Leliana presses Josephine for answers to the release of elven slaves.  
“Nothing yet.” Josephine easing the reply.  
Leaving the war room, Lavellan takes a moment for her weaponry and armor. She often finds a visit to the undercroft helps keep her focus on the missions and the causes she faces. Dagna focuses on her enchanted items, while Harritt repairs the damage done to her armors. Her focus remains on sharpening her blades. Her weapons, an extension of her own physical reach. Caring for them, is much like a ritual. They work into the evening, before Lavellan finds the call of a filling meal and her bed meeting her needs.  
It does not take long for the information to reach Leliana’s desk. The spymaster takes a moment to look over the articles in preparation to deliver the information to the others. Always looking for an angle or things that might lead or connect to the other secrets she collects from her expansive network. The crows caw around her, guiding her focus. Her archives hold more power than some may imagine, reminding all, the risks of crossing her or those she has pledged her devotion to. Her darkness, brings some of the brightest hope for the Inquisition. Lavellan gets word and heads into the war room once again, ready to continue their journey. “We’ve analyzed the scrolls given by the dwarves, Inquisitor. They lead to an ancient dwarven ruin.” Leliana summarizes their findings and has placed full reports for the advisers, in their studies.   
“We will be on our way then, anything particular we should look out for?”  
“Varric has asked that you meet with him before you leave.” 

“Well, it seems we may step on a lot of toes and there is good reason.” Varric sighs  
“What do you mean?”   
“Dwarves hold places sacred, much like the elves. They do not like anyone nosing around their old ruins. Knowing that this ruin is long forgotten, stirs the pot. Those scrolls you received were kept locked away carefully. I hate to think of what may happen once they discover they are gone.” Varric says shaking his head concerned of what may come.   
“I do not know if this is a wise path to take, if we are to gain the trust of the dwarves.”  
“Varric, what other choice do we have. If there are answers to what happened, we need to find them.”   
“But, what if it doesn’t? Not everything brought up from below has resulted in bettering people.”  
“We can make it better, Varric or at least try.”  
“The stone is a long way down, Inquisitor. I hope it’s worth the journey. Who knows what is down there and what could meet us when we come back up.”  
“Our people are already a long way down, Varric.”  
Looking over the land, void and dry it boasts a colossal reach, covered in harshly blowing sand and a bursting sky. This area holds a desolation about it, unlike the others.   
“We have surveyed the area, Inquisitor, everything is covered in decades of sand. We were lucky to find some old stone peeking out. We uncovered the area finding a doorway, but we have not found out how to enter it exactly. I wish there was more to tell you.” Scout Harding politely excuses herself.   
“Thanks for the information, it seems we have some work to do.”   
“Be careful Inquisitor, I don’t think this land has seen footsteps in, who know how long.”  
The land indeed lay empty, surprising that anything was found at all. There are no clear paths, nothing that leads in any direction. They rely on the flames, left from the scouts, for direction. Without any leads, it would be impossible to know anything remained here at all.  
“What is it with the dwarves and sand?” Dorian’s annoyance expressed with thoughts of how long it took to rid all the sand trapped in their gear and belongings, the last time they ventured into the desert lands. The group has walked in the solitude of the land for some time, combating the fleeting beasts of the land as they make their way to the marked location the scouts uncovered. Walking towards the area, a narrow pathway revealed, by the slightest gap between the mounting sand. An old, unlit brazier, shows the direction. Muin uses her magic to light the brazier, a slight passageway becomes exposed as the magic from the veilfire soaks into the thirsting air. The sandstone begins to shine in the likeness of the old dwarven ruins. It is clear now, the sand had covered the stone years before.  
“Interesting, let’s look around.”   
“An untouched tomb that has not seen life in ages.” How do such places just become lost to time?” A thought echoed by everyone.   
“There are no whispers to guide us, we must stay alert.” Muin adds, confirming the desolation. Their footsteps echo in the silence, the hallway made of smooth carven stone – resembles the same appearance found in any dwarven ruin – go in a great length. Lighting the way through, the lanterns lead to a ladder, old but sturdy. It leads them deep into the stone. Sliding to the bottom, always brings a nervous moment, for unknown is what may be below.   
“A tomb, it seems.”   
Continuing to the massive dwarven tomb. The statues of an old dwarven paragon, towers over the party of friends. Carved in the stone, in the shape of a plaque the dwarven statue holds is the story of the guard. 

His life was always in secret.   
From the stone he was born unknown to all.  
Keeping the secrets of the time   
from the pries of those who seek  
the knowledge of the stone.   
Devoted in his honor, his tongue he removed.  
“I’m not sure if I am impressed or creeped out.” Muin discloses a piece of her personality.  
The group looks at her in an endearing surprise.   
“This must have been a burdensome position.” Lavellan states calmly.  
“The service to the ancestors is never an easy one.” Muin knowingly expresses her sentiment.  
Searching the area, they found a source for veilfire. Using the torch, Lavellan discovers a lost rune carving.   
“It’s a direction, pointed out by the image of a compass facing NNE. The rune reads - cannot meet beneath without fire. “Its elven.”  
“There was an alliance between our people.” The comment – whispered from Muin to remind of the peace that once was – lays softly in the ears of the party. Searching further around the tomb they uncover a lever. Pulling it brings a group of rage demons. These spirits in place, to destroy looters. Dorian sets the pace with a blast of fire, joined in by the rogue’s blades. A quick shot from Varric’s crossbow leaves the beast defeated. Muin’s blade slashing across the next demon, stilled by her light. The fatal lunge from Lavellan’s dual blades ends its threat. On defeat, a key drops from one of the ancient demons.  
“I wonder what this key opens.” The question left to wait an answer.  
“North, northeast shall we?” Dorian suggests.   
“Did I mention that I hate caves?” Varric lets out his concern.   
Continuing out of the ancient tomb, the door slams shut behind them.   
“I suppose it’ll take some time for more demons to find their way in replacement.   
The dwarves were cleaver.” Muin voices her appreciation for such schemes. The group follows the direction the veilfire specifically reveals, through lanterns, along the way. Lighting them, the magic releases into the air as if it is quenching the thirst of the skies.   
“I always wondered what the sands were like in person. It tickles sharp, but is soft. I can see why the dwarves stayed underground.” Disclosing her thought.   
“So, you spent your whole life in the forest then?” Dorian accepts the opportunity to learn more of this rare creature.   
“Most of the time, yes. If not in the forests then I was in the fade, never freed of my service.” Muin smiles in her words.   
“So, I guess elven kind did have their slaves.” Dorian makes an argument with a mage who no longer walks with them.   
“In some ways, I can see how you would compare the service to slavery. In some ways it is. Some of our kind became obsessed, twisted in belief. They controlled their people and built their kingdoms with what they called growth; it was restricting. In the beginning, our service held a place of honor; our calling, a choice. Just to have this choice brought much pride.” Muin explains shadowing that pride.  
“So, was yours choice or force?” A question Varric always wondered about these guardians.  
“Mine was of choice. Rebellion was coming and I wanted to protect what could not be lost to corruption. So many were falling, in that fear I found faith.” Muin opens her sentiment.   
“Well then, you have joined the right group.” Varric affirms.   
“We are a bunch of crazy rebels aren’t we?” Dorian states with an overwhelming sense of pride.   
“Well, some of us are crazy.” Varric stabs in a quip.   
“Rebels make the changes needed, when no one else will. Not a fate to face alone. Who else will do it, but the foolish?” Muin smiles politely through Dorian’s gaze.  
Continuing along the hidden path in the dark, dry, desert met with another route leading to another tomb. This one, much like the other, buried deep in the sand.   
“Another tomb of secrets?” Lavellan asked out loud seeking no answer. Using the veilfire she finds another rune – east-Southeast. Looking further around the tomb a discovery of burial stone that lie ajar. Pushing it further open, awakes the demon within. After a quick fight with the rage demon Lavellan collects the items inside. A higher weave robe and a staff of light. A note reads: May light guide you to the unseen. Clearly the items placed with purpose. Lavellan passes them over to the sentinel elf. Muin equips the staff. It locks on to her spirit. The sound echoes for a moments then fades.   
“Are you alright?” Lavellan responds.   
“It's lit now, its awake.” The calm in Muin's voice relaxes the group’s sentiment.   
“Your magic is useful, Muin.” Dorian let's on.   
“And yet her blades do the dirty work, you are a gift aren’t you?” Varric says, admiring her brutal ability.   
Headed out to the last tomb, the doors seal behind the group. Locking away the remnants of their presence. The land lay hallow, no one single soul, beyond their own and any creature that roam the lands. This is a place forgotten. Following the light, now provided by Muin's staff, the group is lead to a huge dune of sand. Unnatural in its stature, it boasts over the desert. Walking in the direction provided, Muin’s staff begins to light up crystals buried beneath, they protrude, pushing the sand from the frame of a sealed opening. Revealing a door with an intricate lock. Lavellan puts in the ancient key and turns it slowly; it resists. Muin faces the door, letting her magic release from the staff. Lighting up the surrounding stones the key turns, unlocking the door for the first time in ages.  
The path is wide and the stone lay untouched in complete perfection, a road meeting the surface. Stone steps lead them down, as each area lights itself from the magic Muin carries. Revealing carvings and stones sparkling in brilliance.   
“Has this road ever seen use?” Lavellan expresses the untouched image before them.   
“There are no whispers here.” Muin agrees.  
The road leads them to a huge cave, it opens wide and jagged. To the left is a small garden with a pool in the middle. Plants grow in the light provided by some magic it seems. Two halla stand over the pool. In the rear, a wolf statue guards the area. On the Right, stands a large stone hallowed out to form a room. Statues of old dwarven kin stand tall, guarding the opening. The stones glistens with light.  
“Athan’lr lath araval ena.” Muin whispers.   
“What is an elven ruin doing down here?” Dorian asks in complete interest.   
Walking up between the two a large stones, elven in nature, scribed on a stone plaque in dwarven runes.  
Our secret must stay. The gods have turned us away.   
Together we stay. But they tear us apart.   
They drive us to ruin. Arrogant and stubborn.   
How do they not see that they bring death?   
Let this stone stand to show that we once were in unity.   
Above and Below. But, now we must separate for a time.   
Only to meet again, when the heavens awake.  
“There is so much sorrow here, but they wrap it in hope.” Muin calmly whispers.  
“I wonder what secrets lie here.” Lavellan always ready for answers, surfaces her thoughts. “Just be careful.” Varric expresses in his caring way.  
Walking to the Elven ruin, a feel of calm and peace is searching within them. Whispers come up from the water, drawing them in. Muin is standing still and in a moment, lights up brightly. A voice talks through her.  
Andaran atish’an, da'mi. Lath sulevin.   
Lath araval ena arla ven tu vir mahvir melana ‘nehn enasal ir sa lethalin.  
Her glowing form fades and falls back to her physical form again.   
“It’s in the water, Lethallan.” Muin points, just as she was.  
Lavellan makes her way to the pools edge enraptured for a moment, pulled on hard by feeling hands stretched out. She can hear the cries centuries old. Her hand touches the water. She lights up in a golden haze and pulls out a stone resembling dwarven origin.   
“This must be a key of some sort.” Lavellan states standing from the pool. They hurry over to the dwarven ruin. Inside, the stone lights up from Muin's staff. The stone is warm, inviting. A statue of a dwarven paragon stands in towering might. Holding a plaque written in ancient elven, in the voice of the dwarf.  
Kal Repartha on loose sand.   
Blow off the dust to find the vein of silver.   
Cut off the stone.   
The Isana will lead your way.  
Isana? That’s Lyrium.” Varric comments on Muin’s translation in wonder.   
“Cut off the stone”, could that be more than what’s deciphered? Lavellan asks.   
“The last time I found some mysterious lyrium, it did not turn out well.” Varric states in worry. Continuing to look around, they find a spot that is loose in the stone. Muin's light shows a hole.   
“The stone key, it must go in there.” Lavellan places the stone in the fitted spot.  
The old room shakes as a door slides up, opening to a small room. Nothing stands in this room, but two scrolls and a platform holding lyrium sealed in a secure glass and magically bound vase.   
“The scrolls are not of any origin I can read.” Muin passes them to Varric.   
He can barely make out something about, “a sickness” and something that “slows.”  
“Could this be what could stop the red lyrium growth?” Dorian asks.   
“We need to get this to Skyhold.” Lavellan commands.  
“But, Inquisitor, bringing this to the surface would put us in much danger.” The troubled dwarf presses at the issues.  
“Can we send people here?” Muin asks calmly.   
“It would be risky, either way. We cannot draw attention to any of this. If this got into the wrong hands, Andraste’s ass.” Varric exasperated.   
“We need to secure the area, quietly.” Lavellan agrees.   
“It cannot open without the staff and the key. We can take those with the scrolls until we can bring back forces.” Muin whispers calmly.  
“I told you I didn’t like this.” Varric argues. In a moment, the sound of steps, the three dwarven scouts from the meeting place before stand before the party.  
“Partha. It has been a long-time since I have had the honor of being in the presence of Elvhen.   
It is with great honor that we greet you, dust to dunkels that we meet now. This place our secret to keep, we must share. The stone has awoken and the time is amgeforn. We must have amgarrak for all of our people. Together once more. We are with the Paragon of Secrets, our brother. We will work with your people to find the answers for all of us, in honor.”   
“I’m sorry I did not get your name.” Lavellan asks, always in grace.   
“I am Shaper Brovil”, the dwarf with the terrible beard states. “With me are Shapers Degar and Ano.”  
“You are all Shapers?”   
“Our family has been for centuries, passing down the secrets of our kind.”   
“So you are brothers, then?”   
“That we are, it was a hard night for our mother.”   
“You are triplets?” Lavellan asks in surprise.   
“We are a rare case, some think a curse among our family. But our skills proved otherwise.” Brovil states in pride. “But, I’m the oldest.” Degar cuts in.   
“You don’t know that, I could well be.” Brovil cuts back while Ano just stands there staring off.  
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, all of you.” Lavellan showing her kind heart.   
“Lethallen, if I may stay with them and help them in this research, I think I could be of great use.” Muin interrupts. Parting ways back to Skyhold a union of strangers begins. Lavellan meets with Leliana to get support out to the area, if anyone else shows up, uninvited.   
“Muin is there with them, she will return when she is no longer needed”. Lavellan explains to Morrigan.   
“Interesting, I am curious about what they may find.” Morrigan states calmly.


	7. The Deeper You Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Shapers reveal a plot that puts Tevinter in the spotlight.  
> Dorian disrupts the advisers as he is unable to sit at Skyhold, knowing he can find more in his homeland of Tevinter as the discoveries intensify, challenging the alliance of the friends.  
> 

The Deeper You Go

 

“Inquisitor, we have news.” Leliana calls Lavellan to the war room.   
“Muin has sent word from the ancient place. It seems that they have found more information on the red lyrium. They believe the scrolls are partial research on the diseased lyrium. It seems some were trying to figure out a cure for the lyrium and they were making progress. The lyrium was not in the dwarven mine, it was in the golden city.” Leliana gestures. “The corruption itself, used intentionally by Corypheus as a weapon against the gods, but its existence has record from before his time. You do know what this means?”   
“It means Corypheus was right.” Lavellan answers the question no one wants to.   
“Yes, but more than that. It means the Golden City holds this corrupted lyrium, possibly corrupted itself.”  
“If everything has become corrupted, then what of the old gods?” Lavellan voices out in distress.  
“This is madness! How can the heavens become corrupted?” Cullen demands in frustration.  
“If this is true, Andraste help us all. We cannot let this information out to anyone.” Josephine states in worry.   
“No, we shall not. Any leaks will be dealt with immediately.” Leliana affirms the importance this discovery holds. Raising her hands from the war table, the Spymaster folds her arms in a demanding stance.  
“Inquisitor, we need to get Muin and the dwarves back here as soon as possible and that tomb sealed.”  
“Good, get them back here quietly we cannot draw any attention. We need to find more information on the red lyrium, which means the dwarves need to talk.” Lavellan positions her command.  
As if sent for, Dorian comes charging into the war room with intent.   
“It seems we have a problem.” Tight faced and angry, he commands attention.   
“What’s going on, Dorian?”  
Dorian slams down a piece of red lyrium on the war table. His force grabbing at all of their hearts. “This! I have spent every night, reading and researching. Going back in my people's history, digging in every dark hole I can find. This, this did not come from the dwarves, though they may have provided the lyrium. My people, the Magisters…they corrupted it. They poisoned it, fed it with sickness.” Dorians face fierce and stern stares right through them all. “I’m going back! If I can find this information out from here, I can find out even more there! Someone had to aid them!” Stepping up to Dorian, Leliana pushes both hands on his chest, putting him up against the wall. “Calm down! Nothing will help if you act insane!” She stares into his eyes with the firmness of death.   
“She’s right, Dorian. You need to think about this!” Lavellan yells out.  
The room, filled to the top with tension. Cullen’s vision locked on Dorian.  
Josephine, steps back in containing her fear. The moment weighs heavy for an instant. Breaking through with a breath, the Tevinter mage continues.   
“I cannot stay here when I know I can get more answers.” His voice breakdowns, falling-out of anger.   
“Are these answer for you, or for us?” Leliana cuts her words into him, stepping back from her hold, still untrusting of the Tevinter mage.   
“Well, I am here aren’t I?” Dorian exclaims, a bit thrown off by the reaction from the spymaster, but not surprised. Her odd sense of darkness has its place.  
“Everyone needs to calm down!” Lavellan contains the room. “Dorian, I believe you. I know how hard you have worked, but running off to Tevinter? Isn’t that a bit drastic?”  
“I don’t think I have to explain the severity, Inquisitor. If I can find answers, nothing is too extreme.”   
“You are not going alone!” Lavellan crosses her arms, in stance to protect her friend.   
“Are you mad? I can’t bring any of you. We’d stand out like a beacon!” Dorian argues.   
“I have many connections in Tevinter, I can take advantage of some favors, gaining aid to get you cover.” Josephine cuts in encouraging discussion.   
“Not to be disrespectful but…you are an elf, you could go in disguise as a … slave. Forgive me.” Cullen steps back showing his embarrassment.   
“That’s not a bad idea.” Leliana encourages the thought. “We do have a few elves here. Are you working on that relationship with your father, Dorian?” Her cunning thoughts emerge showing her firm hand in the game.  
The mood in the room lightens, the focus regained as they come together to work on every detail of this plan long into the night. Sitting around the table, rolling dice, moving pieces each entering the game with traded perspectives and a unity of voices.  
“This diversity is paying off.” Cullen breaks the silence.  
“We should be the voice showing everyone what working together can get you.” Leliana affirms.  
“The game means more than you may know Cullen, every piece needed to win.” Josephine nods in smile.   
“I’m just glad Dorian didn’t run off in a ball of fire.” Lavellan laughs.   
“Run away from you? I know better than that.” His playful reply.  
“Inquisitor, Muin and the dwarves have arrived.” The scout bows as he gestures in the group, followed by Morrigan, who had seen their approach.   
“I will go work on those leads, Inquisitor.” Dorian excuses himself from the meet.  
“Well it seems the deeper we dig, the more we find, Inquisitor.” Brovil begins. “It seems that an old agreement with Ancient Tevinter may be the key to all of this. This agreement was a trade agreement to offer lyrium to Tevinter.”   
“Yes, we read that in your message, what more do you know?”   
“Well, with that agreement, Tevinter was to protect the Deep Roads from the ancient elves.”  
“Why would they need protection from the elves?”  
“By providing lyrium to Tevinter, they broke their agreements with the ancient elves, Inquisitor. I assume they felt retaliation would come, or were lead to believe that retaliation would come.” Brovil gestures with his arms.   
“But, why would the ancient dwarves break their agreement with the ancient elves?”   
“I suppose that is the next piece of the puzzle, Inquisitor. To find out, we need to meet with the other shapers.” Brovil adds.   
“Will they meet with us?” Lavellan asks crossing her arms doubting.  
“At this point, they will have to, Inquisitor.”   
“What do you mean, at this point?”   
“Our people hold much pride, but we also demand justice and law. These dwarves did not just turn their backs on the elves; they broke an alliance that caused our roads ruin by the darkspawn. These dwarves could have caused our own fall in turn leading to agreements with Tevinter. Someone covered this up, when I say someone, I could very well mean all of the ancient leaders.” Brovil reveals his thoughts in great apprehension.   
“But, wouldn’t they want to know?”   
“Well, that’s the thing, you remember that they hold to traditions tightly? If this reveals that those traditions are wrong, it will irreversibly change everything. As I am sure you know, there will be many who will refuse this information. They will go to any length to protect it, even if it means taking lives and destroying the evidence.” Brovil nods his head.  
Ano, steps forth. The first words to break his lips.  
“That is what we are here for my brother.” His voice was stronger than expected, an age of wisdom seemed held inside. “We knew the information we gathered lead to more, Brovil. We knew our day would come. Silence will turn us to stone.” Ano looks at his brothers in love. “What do we need to do?” Lavellan asks for their insight to help ease the heavy thoughts. “There is a shaper, one who might just be able to help. I just don’t know at what cost.” Brovil nods.   
Muin joins the conversation. “We need to let what remains of my people know as well.” If we can gain their support, we could rebuild an alliance.”   
“Rebuild the alliance between the elves and dwarves? Now you are breaking on the edge of madness.” Morrigan crosses her arms. “I’m not sure you understand just how highly they hold to their traditions. Not to mention, having to admit fault? Losing their precious trade connections?”   
“We need only, the voices of a few. If we can get some of them to listen, to help.” Lavellan builds up the hope in the room.  
“You are asking a lot, Inquisitor.” Morrigan gestures in disbelief. “And who shall you approach first?”  
“First we need all the evidence.” Lavellan confirms her intent with a clasping of her fist. “We don’t know what information Tevinter holds.”  
“Be careful, Inquisitor. Shaping the world is a dangerous game.” Morrigan stares into Lavellan, provoking her spirit.


	8. Changing Hearts and Changing Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forming the plan, the inquisition approaches Tevinter carefully.  
> Finding the secrets Morrigan pursues exposes a feat beyond what the party is prepared for.  
> Taking their journey into Tevinter, an unexpected alliance is formed.

Turning Heart and Turning Minds

 

Her desk is always busy, candlelight flickering to the breeze, steady and constant from those passing by. The sound of the quill on paper, like a beast scratching to get out of a locked room; her face focused. What a gift she is. Her golden clothing, reflecting in her eyes. She is a true beauty and fearless in everything she does. Approaching her desk, Lavellan always feels as if she should shroud her in appreciation. She must remember to have the cooks bring her tiny cakes. Some value of thanks for the good friend she is.  
“Inquisitor, we are ready to review Dorian's request if you have a moment.” Her polite manner, always covering her efforts. Leliana enters the room with Dorian and Morrigan. Cullen the last to enter, stands with arms crossed, unhappy with what is about to unfold.   
“I just don’t see why our Inquisitor has to go, why can’t we send in spies?” The Commanders distrust in the plan revealed immediately.  
“We already discussed this. Dorian knows the area better than any of us, if he gets into any trouble he will need more than the spies we will have in place.” Leliana cuts the concern out removing the pieces of heart. Clearly, this is going to happen.  
“I have received communication from your father, Dorian. He is eager to see you home soon.”  
“He will suspect a ruse. Do we have everything in place?” Dorian shows his understanding of his father and the lengths he may go to secure his son from the rebel Inquisition.  
“The elven spies are already in place, the scouts have met with Josephine’s people, we are just waiting on you and the Inquisitor.” Leliana confirms the plan.   
“Have we considered that they might try to detain Dorian?” Morrigan addresses the question lingering in all of their minds.   
“That’s why you will be going as his escort, Morrigan.” Leliana begrudgingly eyes Morrigan. “You have the secrets of the well on your side, correct?” Crossing her arms with a tip of her hip a sign of sass from the spymaster.  
“Me? Ha. You think me a fool?” Morrigan taunts the idea.  
“No respectable mage shows up without an escort, Morrigan. Lavellan cannot, Muin cannot, and clearly, we know why. Same as with Bull, Cole, Sera, or any of us. Your connection to us, remains unknown.” Leliana eyes her hard with her intent. “The Inquisitor, Muin, and Sera will already be in the building, replacing the servants. Bull will have his chargers stationed and ready for the call, if needed. It's not like we are throwing you to the wolves. You are here to help us, aren’t you?” The argument continues. “Once Dorian has met with his father, he will ask to visit the city, escorted by the Tevinter Magisters, of course. Once he enters the Archive Hall, we will have to act fast. Sera, Muin, and Lavellan will create a distraction, while Dorian grabs the Archive Hall key from the guard. The visit will end abruptly as they will be embarrassed over the actions of the servants. You will have to go break them out of their… rooms. They will not take the actions lightly. Moving swiftly, from there you gain access to the archives.” Leliana places her game pieces along the map.   
“Starting a war with Tevinter is not the goal.” Cullen cuts in. His stance bold, but the worry clear on his face.   
“My contacts will cover your entrance and exist, beyond that you are on your own as I am sure you are aware of the risk they are taking.” Josephine places down her pieces.  
“This is the plan the almighty Inquisition comes up with?” Morrigan shakes her head. “However, we do need their information, I digress.” Morrigan stops her thought, exposing her new agenda. “There may be something else of use in the area. If I am to do this, then you must allow me to seek this source.” Morrigan lays down her piece in the game.   
“What source do you refer to?” Leliana narrows her sight, showing her distrust.   
“You asked for my help, using my knowledge from the Well. Tevinter holds many elven artifacts. The land did belong to the elves before Tevinter, after all. If there are artifacts, they could be of use to the Inquisition.”   
“Do you know where to find these artifacts?” Lavellan breaks her silence with a sign of agreement to Morrigan’s cause.  
“Not exactly, but I will do all that I can to find out more.” Morrigan’s point pressing hard.   
“If there are elven artifacts, we must procure them.” Seeing the benefit over the risk, Leliana steps in on the agreement.   
“Makers breath, so you want to start a war? It is risk enough just being there.” Cullen disagreeing with this new agenda.   
“If a few of you show up early, we could cover your entrance. This will give you time to search for the artifacts while we get everyone else in place. It won’t give you much time, but it's better than trying to recover them, after a break in.” Josephine grabbing at ideas to aid this new twist in the game.   
“And what happens when they find the artifacts missing?” Cullen continues the argument further.   
“They are elven, they don’t belong to them. What are they going to do? Start a war over artifacts they stole?” Morrigan’s rebuttal showing her intelligence and ability to outwit any who stands in her path.   
“She has a good point.” Dorian voices his support, “but they will not just ignore theft.”   
“They are not going to openly attack the Inquisition. We have Orlais and Ferelden behind us.” Josephine clears the concern. We will suspect them to send attacks, but with a few letters to the proper people, we can have those forces eliminated.   
“My troops could use some good fights.” Cullen plays protection as his support comes around.   
“Morrigan, get us as close to the place you sense. We will meet the rest of you at the port. Send Bull and his chargers in to clear the area taking no unnecessary risks.” Lavellan demands unity, the room fills with command. A stand echoing the power that they all hold, together. A force, growing beyond what they ever dreamed. The hunt begins.  
Morrigan, Lavellan, Muin, and Sera journey off into the territory of Tevinter. Cloaked in large dark hoods, hiding their faces from any who may pass by. The sands are hot under the blazing sun. Morrigan pulls out the map pointing out the direction the group will travel. Meanwhile, the others carefully move into place around their target location of Minrathous. Slave wear laid out awaiting the Inquisition elves, while hands exchange favors between the allied, as every piece moves into position. Uncovering her head, Morrigan holds up the map the directing to a small settlement that sits just off the horizon. Solas, Tevinter.   
“Well, this is interesting.” Morrigan looks over to Lavellan.   
“Solas?” Her brow frowns suspicious in the obvious coincidence.   
“Morrigan?” Lavellan breaks the moment.  
“I can tell you more, if we proceed, Inquisitor.” Morrigan gestures her hand outward, as if to say, after you.  
“Well this place is creepy.” Sera starts to pick up on the strange feeling in the air.  
“I agree.” Lavellan’s gut in knots. His name, a Tevinter settlement where elven artifacts remain. Her head running circles around the fragments of information, nowhere to put them, they push against her will.  
“There is elven magic nearby.” Muin's voice breaks out in a tone never heard from her before. This stirs Lavellan further, a choice of words she is so familiar with, haunt her. Feeling a rush go through, she pushes through her sentiment.  
Buildings begin to break through the haze. The roofs peak just over the wall surrounding the settlement. Statues of a dragon stand on each side of the gate; bold in black.  
The settlement is small, no larger than a common town. Guards stand ready atop the walls. Wearing minimal armor, they do not seem excessively protected.   
“The fat one on the ledge is mine.” Sera’s playful claim.  
“You want to wager?”  
“Bring it, just keep your lighty thing on your own side.”  
“Last to fall has to search the corpses.”  
“Yuck, that one look squishy too, ha-ha.”  
“Charming, can we get on with it then?”  
“You want in, Morrigan?”   
“Ha, you wish for me to take away your fun?”  
“Witches ain’t fun. 3…2…1…”  
Flares of magic and arrows meet with the eerie laughter of the two elves as the simple guards fall to the skilled pair. Muin stands brushing off her hands.  
“Yeah, rub it in.”  
“If you two have had quite enough.”  
“Yes, mother.”  
Muin turns her face to hide her laughter. It has been some time since the elf has had companions around. Surely Sera arouses a playful spirit long hidden.   
Slipping into the settlement, few buildings stand in the shadow of a large temple. Set at the back of the village, centering its dominance on the land. The smaller buildings are Tevinter; however, the larger building boasts a distinct look about it. Oversized black dragon engraved doors threaten any who approach. Guarded by several forces, a mixture of mages and heavy armored troops. The sledgehammers reflect the sun in blinding flashes. Metal and black clothed figures pace back and forth. As the party creeps along unnoticed.   
“Those are not Tevinter, is this place abandoned?” Lavellan’s voice low.   
“Something is wrong.” Morrigan whispers. “I, I can’t… they are gone.”   
As the last words leave her lips, a blast of fire comes up from behind them. The ground quaking, rocks fall from the buildings around. The breath of a great dragon knocks them all off their feet. The beast swoops barely missing the ground. The guards stirred to the commotion rush to attack the exposed group. Magic’s flare up the sky. Muin freezes her target in light, running to slash into him with her two hook-like blades, ripping into him with a spin to the ground. Sera flips backwards releasing a barrage of arrows; poison in their tips. Placing her feet as she lands, she steadies herself for the next release. Lavellan spins in with her blades tearing the foe to the ground, keeping the other mage from casting his spell on Sera. Marking her next target, she paralyzes him before meeting him with a fierce slash of her blades. Morrigan twists her staff in the air releasing a blast of force against her target that sends him hurled to the ground. The battle is urgent. The dragon circles above, poised for another attack, readying its breath for a burst of fire. Morrigan shouts out sensing the incoming dragon fire…”LOOK OUT!” They all scatter, leaving the enemy to face the blast. For a few, it is their end, however a few forces remain standing. It is not long before they have cast down the rest. Just in time to avoid another attack from the dragon’s fiery breath. Lavellan rushes to get to the great doors, but the dragon has beat her to the entrance. Standing in guard of the mysterious building, its might too much for the group unprepared; they must retreat. “Whatever it is guarding, we need to get to it.” Morrigan demands.   
“Morrigan, that dragon is not like the others.” Lavellan meets the topic.  
“Something is blocking me from searching further. But whatever is in there, it has the answers we need.” Morrigan’s intrigue heightens.   
“We have no way of doing that now, we will have to come back.” Lavellan makes the call.  
“No, there is something stronger here, something called in the dragon not wanting to be found. I felt whispers. I wonder if another eluvian stands behind those doors.” Morrigan reveals the pieces of what she heard.   
“We need to get to the others, we can still recover the information Dorian is looking for.” Lavellan leads the focus. "We will have to come back."   
Meeting with Josephine’s contacts, the others happily reunited.   
“So, were you successful?” Dorian opens the discussion.   
“I think the question you should be asking is, why is there a great dragon protecting Tevinter territory?” Morrigan briefs the group.   
“A dragon? In Tevinter? Well that’s not good.” Dorian confirms the group’s sentiment.   
“Can’t things just be normal already?” Sera expresses her disgust.  
“Let’s get what we have come for and get back to Skyhold.” Lavellan urges the party.  
The three elves go along to put on their disguises and get in place, while Morrigan and Dorian met with Magister Parvus. The building boasts the wealth this nation holds. Dragons carved in great mass along the pillars, as if to invoke fear. Holding up the ceilings that tower open and raised high displaying darkened arches. Books amass the bookshelf covered walls that need stairs and walkways to reach. Everything presented in exquisite detail, gold and darkened metals line every banister. Lavellan, face down, stands holding a tray watching as Dorian, Morrigan, and Magister Parvus enter the room Attended by four mage guards adorned in black robes, oversized hoods, and staffs. Sera stands on the other side of the Hall, her face showing her hatred. Muin stands covered in the slave wear waving an incense holder back and forth, like the ticking hand of a clock. The room still and cold.   
“It has been a long times since I have seen such greatness. These libraries used to keep me for hours on end.” Dorian plays out his part.  
“Indeed, I have never seen anything to meet its match.” Morrigan enters her role.  
Magister Parvus turns and excuses the mage guards. “Please leave us, I need a private moment with my son.” His voice commands in a softer way than expected.  
The party stirs a bit, worry filling them all as the mages bow and exit the room. The door slams shut causing them all to flinch inside.  
“Dorian.” Magister Parvus begins, “you can tell your friends to show themselves.”   
Uneasy, everyone holds their positions.  
“I know why you have come Inquisitor, you do not need to hide – as a slave – in front of me.” He makes them all aware of his understanding of the moment. “I knew my son was not here for me or a visit.” The Magister continues his confession. “Inquisitor, please, you do not have to fear me as your enemy. I was never able to thank you for bringing my son to meet with me in Redcliffe. I have had time to consider his fate as well as my own.”  
"My fate?" Dorian interrupts with an irritated breath. The Magister continues his thought. "Many years ago, we once sought friendship with your kind, we have in turn suffered for what our people have done. Though not many of us want to correct our wrong, my son has shown me there is more, than our society, in need of protection.”   
Dorian looks on at his father in disbelief. “What are you saying?” His brow tightens revealing his compassion, unsure if what he is hearing is truth.  
“Thank Andraste, I didn’t think I could keep that up much longer.” Sera busts out unable to hold her irritation for the situation in any longer.  
“I lost everything when I turned you away.” Magister Parvus continues. “At first, I thought this Inquisition another mindless rebellion. But, I have seen the work you are doing, you are opening doors long hidden away. Doors many have fought and died to keep secret, to include my own family. I’ve always known it was not right." The Magister turns now to his son. "Dorian, please accept my help as an apology for everything I have done to you. Here is the key you seek. There is a door behind the last shelf, behind it you’ll find what you need. The last thing I can lead you to, there are dwarven scrolls buried in a tomb, west. With these documents you will expose more truths than this world has seen in thousands of years.”  
“Father.” Dorian understanding the betrayal that is taking place, looks in sorrow at his father.  
“Dorian, I will be fine. There are more of us, more than you know. You will meet with us again, when you are in need.” Magister Parvus turns to exit the room. Off to the side, a few servants come out with two others holding the faint looks of Morrigan and Dorian, clearly to fool anyone who expects betrayal. “Take the tunnel, it will lead you out in secret. We will speak again soon.” The door shuts enclosing the party in a stone silence.   
“Turning hearts and turning minds.” Muin speaks out in a delicate sentiment, smiling at Dorian.  
“Well then.” Dorian for the first time in his life, speechless.   
“Let’s get the stuff already and get out of here, my skin is crawling and not in a fun way.” Sera grabs her bow from behind a pillar.  
“Indeed.” Morrigan agrees and just as promised, the room holds four scrolls and an artifact, elven in origin. The party, leaves through the long narrow underground passage leading out to the docks. Meeting with one of Leliana scouts, Lavellan points out the dwarven scrolls location to the scouts as the rest of the party returns to Skyhold. Again, gaining answers and more questions.


	9. A Story Untold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morrigan taunts at the will of Lavellan and Muin, carefully reaffirming their stand on the fate of the world.  
> Another elven clan is exposed thanks to a connection to he who once was Sorrow.  
> Further explanation of the transfer of spirits to those who become gods, is casually revealed as Lavellan gains a powerful ally in Abelas.

A Story Unheard

“Inquisitor, when you have a moment”. Morrigan presses Lavellan to meet with her urgency. Meeting with the insistence in Morrigan’s voice, Lavellan nods in compliance.  
Muin stands waiting by the eluvian, holding her own hands tight. Her grace echoing an old age, her eyes shine with the tears of ages, large and filled with shadow. Her skin a perfect pale, like a smooth pebble, washed over and over by the moving stream of a river. Her white hair soft, undone from the leather ties she uses to keep it back in battle. It falls longer than expected. Her stature is small, shorter than the common elves of today. A whisper of their people. A piece of beauty, rare these days. The women step through the magical door, inside the hallowed pathways. Muin takes a moment to look longingly at the area, desolate and broken. In her eyes, a puddle forms, as her memory unwinds a time long-lost. The serene moment closes quickly as she snaps back into her duty.   
“What we have begun, I, I am concerned.” Morrigan begins.  
Lavellan pulls her attention fully to Morrigan now, breaking her soft gaze at Muin. “What is it Morrigan.”  
“Long have I sought to learn of your kind and the secrets lost to time. Long have I searched for and protected what was. Carrying spirits, aiding our Hero’s, avoiding the witch for whom I was intended to be a vessel. After taking the Well of Sorrows, I have become that much more connected to your people. The knowledge I hold, does indeed belong to the elves. Though I hope that you understand that I may not have your ears, I do have the soul of your people at heart.” Morrigan begins to show a fragment of what hides behind her mask. Her face revealing the hope and fear she has carried for so many years. She knows more than any elf Lavellan has met, save for Solas. Yet, Morrigan shadows her knowledge.  
“I do mean to keep some things from you, Lavellan. There is reason, your journey must be solely your own. The decisions you make, must come naturally; this is key. Though I can lead you to destinations, what you choose, what you decide must come from your heart. Though, I hope you understand, I am here to help.” Disclosing her passion, the witches’ eyes look to Lavellan open and pleading. Her arms expressing the hope she has in a raised gesture.  
“Morrigan, I know that you seek to help, but I’d be more understanding if I knew what this was all about.” Lavellan breaks the sympathetic moment.  
“You are wise to ask questions. To put our faith, solely in trusting others has led to many wars, when a simple question could have changed the course for many. Whether you trust me is one matter, answered with time. Know you this, what I lead you to, indeed are in good faith. What you choose to do with the knowledge is for you to decide. The answers may be different from what you imagined or want. However, will you seek it for you or for your people?” Morrigan lets down into the direction this conversation needs to go, provoking the will of Lavellan.  
“Choices can be both, Morrigan.” Muin interrupts.  
“Rarely is that true, Muin.” Morrigan breaks the kindness and shows the fierce devotion she has, never expecting much good to come. Possibly related to her own service and fears of what may come from the price she has paid. “Gods are never one-sided, both feared and loved in one breath. To make decisions that allow everyone love you, is unheard of. There will always be those who do not favor the result. What do you do with those who do not heed your will? Force, murder, enslave?”  
“Morrigan, did you come to lecture me on morals?” Lavellan’s insistence pressed from her voice, stressing her discomfort with the challenge presented by the mage.   
“Not morals, but choice. The orb, foci, it was Elven. Yet Corypheus claimed he created it, shaped it to assault the heavens himself. But, how did he gain control of such a powerful Elven artifact? A power belonging to one of your own people’s pantheon?”  
“We cannot answer that…unless.” Lavellan gathers her thoughts putting the pieces together, “we walk through the fade. It holds remnants of memories and could going there show us?”  
“This would be the benefit for our venture into the fade, yes. That and to stop any who try to enter themselves, however, this assault will continue until we can keep them all from corrupting the fade any further. We must find the cure for the tainted lyrium. It is a living disease. As long as it persists, the heavens are at risk. Imagine, if you will, corruption has met the gods. Who then keeps the veil? Does it break open sending every demon on us all? If we can find this cure, do we seal everything away, where they will remain safe?”  
“Seal up the fade? But, that would take the magic away! They would never be free, Morrigan!” Muin showing her complete anger at the words she just heard come from the dark mages mouth. “You mean to destroy us!” Muin's energy begins to rise, her skin glows, and her hair starts to twist in her ire.  
“I do not mean to kill anyone. Without this magic, I could not even be!”   
“And what of the elves remaining, Morrigan?” Lavellan joining in the anger Muin is keeping in restraint.   
“Without magic, who could fear them anymore?” Morrigan relays her thought. Very well knowing it is an unpopular choice. “As I stated before, I am not here to decide for you. But, it is something to give thought. Your gods are already locked away, according to legend, the elves that remain already lost. Why not protect what is left? Why not keep them where they are the safest?”  
“This affects everyone Morrigan. We know not what happens when magic leaves this world. We do not know what could happen, if you take away everything that remains. No! I am not going to imprison magic!" Lavellan’s heat permeates off her, like a mist thrust into the air after a crashing wave.  
“Morrigan, there are still those of us who endure, you would be sentencing them to a choice of being locked away or death. There is no honor in that choice.” Muin echoes the sentiment that has rung throughout centuries.  
“I bring up the choice, Inquisitor.” Morrigan makes plea to her reasoning. “It is my job, yes? As I stated, the choice is not mine to make.” Morrigan grasping to regain some face, in front of the two elves, standing before her.  
“I will not entertain this thought, Morrigan.” Lavellan breaks her voice in this moment. “Everyone deserves freedom, whether they are spirit or mortal. If my life is the sacrifice to keep them all free? I am prepared to give it.” Her eyes fill with passion and determination. “I am the key you claim, my blood. I will protect them, even if that means from you."  
“You and any who remain, such as Muin.” Morrigan moves the topic knowing the spirits of her companions. Knowing that their wills remain unchanged. She will take the distrust, the ire. It is her place. The answer she was seeking – pure champions – was answered. A force she will need for what comes.  
“Yes, those who remain.” Muin calming back into her softness.  
“Inquisitor, do you remember Abelas?” Morrigan sets the new path.  
“From the Well of Sorrow, yes.”   
“He remains?” Muin’s eyes fill with an enthusiasm neither of them had seen in her.   
“Indeed, he was who lead me to your people Muin. He has searched long in his journey. Now residing in yet another clan that has remained untouched."  
“So there are more.” Lavellan looks down at the place her feet stand. She somehow knowing, that they all, could not have fallen. “Can we meet with him, does he know of anything that can help us further?”  
“This is why I wanted to speak with you. Revealing these places could bring danger in the wrong hands.” Morrigan showing the intent behind their stirred conversation. “While the dwarves seek out information, in the case that we meet with the dwarven paragons, it would be in our interest to speak with Abelas."  
“Would he be willing to speak with us?” Lavellan showing her understanding of the delicate place they are in.  
“I do not know his willingness. However, I do know that we have someone with us who he would be thankful to see.” Morrigan gestures over to Muin who stands looking more bashful than anything else in this moment. “She might be reason enough for him to meet with us and see that we are not seeking malice. If nothing more than to learn more of your people, making them aware of our efforts.”   
“Does this mean you know where he is?”   
“Indeed, and I am ready to leave when you are.” Morrigan waves her hand toward the eluvian, to display the closing this conversation.

Sera is in her room pacing back and forth, something is stirring within her.  
“I have a lead. Mages and their magic. Stupid assbuckets need a room of bees."   
“We will look into it Sera.” Lavellan reassures the disturbed elf.  
“Good then, get to it.” Sera expresses how serious the matter is, in her way. “Demons everywhere, maybe it's not just the elves, maybe it is everyone, we are all demons…” Sera goes on mumbling as Lavellan walks out of her room, clearly troubled by the lead.  
Checking in with Cole, Lavellan finds no trace. She often has to seek him out, this time she finds him sitting on the walls of the battlements. Walking up, Cole sits looking out toward the mountains.  
“Are you alright, Cole?” She asks the spirit who she has come to care for.  
“No. I can’t hear it anymore. I find pieces, whispers. I feel the hurt. Then is goes away. Muin helped. She gave me more. I can reach it. The hurt, it calls to me. But as soon as I get to it. It goes away.” His frustration shows through his gnashed teeth.  
“What does this mean Cole?”   
“He doesn’t want me to. But, I have to. It’s a hurt I can help heal. I can help. He doesn’t have to be alone. Alone makes it worse. Makes it more real, it doesn’t have to be.”  
“You are talking about Solas, aren't you Cole?”  
“Yes. I can still feel him. He has changed but it is still him. Why would anyone not want help?" Upset by being unable to understand, the spirit is in pain for his friend.   
“Maybe he needs it, Cole.” Lavellan tries to bring comfort.  
“Like you?” He begins to speak her pain. “He touches me deeper. His face fading, trying to hold the memory, can’t let it go. I love him. His lips soft, a touch felt deep. The marks are gone, he is changing me. NO! No, don’t go. Why? Don’t leave me. I still don’t understand. Pillow soaked in tears, the pain cuts through, but the memory is sweeter than never feeling anything.”  
Lavellan looks on, with tears in her own eyes, as the spirit sings her pain.  
“You keep the hurt, to remember. Without it, you are afraid you will forget. Even if he wants you to. You can’t, you shouldn’t, he doesn’t forget.” Cole breaking in and out between sorrow and anger, rising and falling between the emotions that love causes. “He is afraid. But he has a plan, I just can’t reach it.”  
“Cole, we will find him. Then we can both get answers.”   
“I’d like that.” The compassionate spirit comforted by her reply.  
Wrapping her arm around him, the elf rests her head on his arm, as they watch the snow blowing along the mountaintops.  
In the war room, Lavellan places Leliana’s agents to Sera’s concern. Cullen’s troops are overseeing efforts to build – and rebuild – structures to house the elven people, as negotiations are taking place for their freedom. Josephine is silencing nobles who are feuding the release of their slaves. Progress slow, but in action. The dwarves have gone to secure a meet with the Elder they seek. “Has Dorian finished reviewing the scrolls from Tevinter?”  
“Not yet, he is with the scholars now. It’ll take some time to decode the ancient Tevinter.”  
“A Tevinter Magister, on our side? It seems so hard to believe.”  
“We got the articles, did we not? Has Morrigan gained anymore insight on the dragon in Tevinter?”   
Lavellan leaves her advisers to discuss among themselves, with a long journey ahead, she gathers her party and ventures into the unknown. 

The party traveled far west to a land covered in lush trees and massive foliage. Haunted by a darkened scar scorching the land, younger growth fighting its way back, leading to a huge split in the earth. Rocky ledges lend hand to their travel down into the forest. The stone marked with traces of a burn, as if a blast brushed the stones, with the flames.   
“What happened here?” Lavellan asks out in open thought.  
“This we shall find out soon enough, I imagine.” Morrigan answers.  
Silence drops into play as the party meets the narrow opening into the forest. Trees, towering overhead, stand showing the age of the forest towering in height; unkempt, natural. Bright greens set the scene, flowers bloom, large as if they fight to bring color to the landscape. Halla bounce by, exotic birds flutter as they stir the forest with their steps, squawking as they warn of the approaching strangers.   
“They know.” Cole whispers.  
“Do not make any sudden movements.” Morrigan warns the party. The group need not wait as they are met quickly, arrows pointing from every direction. Small glimmers reflecting light off the golden armor and chain mail. The forest holds in complete silence as the birds fly off and the beasts clear.   
“We do not come here to fight.” Morrigan yells out the cliché that comes naturally.  
No response comes, bows still drawn. Lavellan looks to Muin.  
Muin steps ahead of the group, dropping her hood exposing her face. She speaks out, “Ma har Elvhen? Atish falon.”   
Their bows still drawn, a voice breaks through coming from the woods in front of them.  
“Hren, atisha. Viran se lan'aan? ” The warrior now showing his form, small and youthful, yet his voice carries age. His golden armor boasting his well-trained body. Silk drapes over his golden armor, His staff like a walking stick. His face marked with the vallaslin of Mythal, dark red hair falls down his back held in braids. His eyes boast a sharp blue that stirs the visitors unsure of their welcome.   
“Var shiral, Tarasyl'an Te'las.” Muins speaks softly.   
“Tarasyl'an Te'las?” The elf eyes the group, as if he had expected a different vision of them. “You speak of a place long-lost, but there is truth in you.” He walks closer, still surrounded by a wall of archers – drawn, intent.   
Eyeing Cole with a deep penetration, he asks a question only the spirit can hear.  
Cole answers out-loud to show his trust in his companions. “Yes, I am among them.”   
It is assumed that he asked if the spirit chose to walk among them, or forced as spirits are usually not see in travels. The elf then turns to Morrigan. “You carry what does not belong to you human.”   
“I carry what I was willing to make the sacrifice for, a gift from your people.” She taunts at the elf. The elf laughs out, “Our people? I assume you mean this half-blood.”   
Now turning his attention to Lavellan. “I have come to share what we know, that is all.” Lavellan boldly makes her place. The elf raises his arm, signaling the arches to stay their bows. All at once, in uniform they lower their weapons. The elf turns to walk and gestures them to follow without words.  
“I guess we follow him then?” Morrigan lets out her held back breath.  
The group fades off into the dense forest behind the mysterious elf.  
The elves have made their home in the boasting trees. Bridges built marking where the magic used to connect them. Echoes of a time past remain, some magic’s still bind the village. Healers teaching techniques, archers shooting at targets held up by magic, hunters cleaning their kills, using their hands glowing along the beast’s carcasses. No one elf is without some magic in this forest home. Muin stilled for a moment, focused on an image in the distance.   
“Heart beats out loud. The arrow sharp in my leg, trying to make my way back to the village, it's far. I’m getting cold, losing feeling in my leg. Her magic, still young focused on her leg, vulnerable. His hands around her, he runs telling her to hold on. She is warm in bed. The healers mending her. He never leaves her side.” Coles lets out her memory.  
Turning to meet her gaze, he must sense her. “Abelas,” she whispers leaving the group to embrace her friend.   
“Well, the world sure is a small place isn’t it.” Morrigan stares, crossing her arms, as the two meet after many years. Exchanging greeting and awe of their survival to meet again. Looking up after a joyful greeting to meet eyes with the faces he has seen before.   
“So we meet again.” Morrigan smirks.  
“I see you have survived, mage.” He cuts into her, reminded of the service he walked away from. Looking the group over further, not seeing the one whom he connected with.  
“He walks alone, returned.” Cole answers his thoughts.  
Abelas looks sharply at Cole, “You come freely?”   
“Yes, here I can help.” Cole replies.   
Turning his gaze to Lavellan. “Your stories reach even here, Lethallan.”   
Muin breaks in, showing a gentle spirit, a sign of her honor given to her old friend.  
“Abelas, we have much to catch up on, however there is purpose to our visit.”  
“Old friend, I never imagined to see you here, please let us walk, and excuse us.” Bowing to the group leading Muin off to view the village.   
“Well, I guess we are on our own for now, we must meet with the keeper.” Morrigan advises.  
Stirring from a sleep deeper than any she has had. Her soul feeling refreshed, calmed, and peaceful. Any wounds she carried, healed. Youth marks her skin again. The bed – like a cloud – hovers over the carved floor. Imprints of the trees rings decorate the room, giving way to texture. Deep scents of cinnamon and fresh herbs greet her nose. Her armor stands in the corner, cleaned, blades sharpened. Flowers mark the floor in a simple path. Meeting outside, she sees her friends speaking with Muin and Abelas. She walks to greet them. “I trust you slept well.” Muin greets her, showing the respect she has gained for her companion.   
“Very well, ma serannas.” Lavellan replies to the one she finds friendship with.   
“It is mere echoes of what once was, but we endure. Muin has spoken of your task ahead. I have many thanks to give to the one whom you once traveled with. I will help in any way I can.”  
“Abelas has been useful in helping to decipher some of the visions. We may just have a path after all.” Morrigan relays the work they have been doing while Lavellan slept. “Abelas is interested in our procurement of the old elven scrolls and artifacts.”   
“I would appreciate any help you can give, Abelas. The artifacts belong with the people and will brought back to them.”   
“If you truly seek to free our people, to bring peace to our lands?” His stare searches inside her pushing hard at her will.  
“My goal is to see peace returned, though I am still unsure how we can do this without help from something more powerful than us.” Lavellan lets out her intent to find more who can help. Abelas eyes her, looking hard at her face.   
“You have been freed from what your people marked you.” Looking harder now, he stirs emotions in her. “You already have power on your side, a power you have obviously refused.” He means to question her about the Well.   
“I am not after power for myself. I want peace for our people.” She admits her true intent.  
“There is more that you wish, da'len. Marked, wounded, but still he believes in you and you him.” Abelas reads her like a book left open in the wind. “He is right, you are a rare spirit.” He presses further into her before she stops him. Understanding why she guards this, the elven sentinel continues. “You have my aid, as long as you remain uncorrupted. I will meet with your spymaster and send what aid I can. If this sickness has a cure, much will change for us all.” His words heavy in the air. “Walk with me.” Gesturing Lavellan towards the path Muin walked down on their arrival.  
The path, marked with the homes and shelters of the elvhen, breaks away. They walk toward the sound of the water. It’s now that she realizes how far up they are. The edge of the land cut off to reveal a ravine, filling with water falling from a higher ledge, down to a stream below. A barrier of magic lay as a fence, protecting any from falling down below. Abelas rests his arms on the surface of this enchanted fence, looking out over the falls, he begins the conversation.   
“What do you know of the ones your people refer to as gods, Lethallen?” Not an uncommon question asked of a dalish.  
“Honestly, I have heard the stories as any dalish, some feared, some loved. In my journeys, I have come to question them, not even sure if they were even truly gods or mere tales.” She admits, knowing he will see past any cover she tries to hold up.  
“You question, that is not something often found from the dalish. But, you are more than a dalish, to think an immortal would seek out a dalish?” He shakes his head.  
Lavellan looks at him in a frown, showing her distaste.  
“What does that mean now? We are all headed to the same place, are we not? You cannot lose faith, Lethallen. You may have lost the knowledge your people held, but you have gained truth. What a place to leave you, mala suledin nadas. You understand that many of our kind became corrupted turned away from the truth; you however, shown kindness, left free. He must have had great respect for you. Many would have done the opposite and marked you in their service. Touched by rebellion and you didn’t even flinch.”  
“Touched by rebellion? Are you referring to the mark?” Lavellan turns her head in question exposing that naivety still lay within the elf.  
“You will understand at the right time.” Abelas answers firmly. “Handed the answers, how could you make a genuine decision?” Piercing through, into her, she quiets her thought.  
“Back at the well, you spoke of Fen’harel having nothing to do with Mythal’s death and that the elves warred among themselves, causing their own fall. What more can you tell me?”   
“There is much to understand, but I will give you what knowledge I can. For now, accept this. The elves did war among themselves, some happy with the simple works of nature and their people, watching over their kingdom’s. It was a different world then, there was not a veil, spirits and elves lived among one another. We lived in eternity, building up our people and the world around us. But, like most children, some wanted more. The wars were powerful, malicious, and childish. Much like you, there were those who tried to stop it, those whom fought for peace. During this time, the humans took notice and with a lust to have what our people held, they attacked. This made those who fell to the power, more proud. They gave them magic’s and capabilities, that were beyond the human’s control. Finding joy in this, they found ways to mislead the elves, tricking them. Teaching them fear and distrust. The elven kind, confused and lost, not knowing who to follow. With little end in sight and those who ruled in peace falling, the remaining came to a place of meeting. It was then that Mythal was murdered. In his rage, the one known to the dalish as Fen’harel took her foci and sealed them all away, so no more harm could come. The Golden city held in a veil, keeping the two worlds from ever meeting again. During this time the young pantheon took on the spirit of rebellion to aid him in this feat, thus becoming known as the Dread Wolf among your kind. Unable to understand what was going on, the elven kind ran in fear to the humans; who in their lies promised them hope.” Sinking his head down as if to hide his face. We became the nightmare they imagined us, to keep them away and protect what remained.   
“So, Fen’harel was an ancient elf who fought to protect his people by summoning a spirit and letting it…possess him?” Lavellan focusing on the way lore twists a hero.  
“Many carry the spirits of another, our form is but a vessel, after all. This was not just some random spirit. The spirit itself was of rebellion. Only granting its favor to the one in great need. Understand, one must prove worthy. If taken by an ill guided person, what do you think would become? If instead of Compassion, the one who calls himself Cole had Justice?   
“Like Anders. His person was good, but the Justice he carried took control.” Lavellan shows her understanding of the point Abelas means to make.   
Looking on in approval he continues. “How do you know that you do not carry one? Tell me, after the human consumed the Well did you see anything? Experience anything of your own?”  
“I remember running to Morrigan’s aid, then Corypheus came, we had to go through the eluvian. I looked back. A form, glowing brightly, came up and followed us into the eluvian. After that… no nothing.”  
Abelas looks deeply into her again, pushing at her will even harder now. “You must know, spirits are draw to one such as yours. You must stay mindful, as it does not just attract spirits, demons will find their way as well.” He begins to break away from the conversation, as the day is getting late and there is much travel ahead. “Just know this Lethallan, when your time comes to choose, do not let the muses of vengeance or greed guide you. Your spirit, the one you carry is rare and can overpower more than the gods may even know. Love, faith, and desire are strong. You do not need anything more. Tel garas solasan Lethallen and I will fight, if need be, by your side.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ABELAS!! <3  
> I am nearing the end, I promise!


	10. Another Step Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana exposes her hand to the Dwarves.  
> The advisers catch up on their next plays in the game.  
> Lavellan spends some time with Dorian and learns more about her new companion.

Another Step forward

 

Shaking, cold, wet sweat drips down his face, betrayal approaching his tongue. The blade rests hard on his throat. Even the smallest drop, hitting the floor, echoes in the stone room.   
“My brothers!” He breaks out in despair. “I don’t know what you speak of.”  
His eyes, reflecting the fear that builds up inside, heart pounding against his breath. Traces of red line his face from the blood filling his veins. She presses harder on his broad chest.  
“Tell us where it is!” She towers over the dwarf who sits vulnerable on his stone throne. Dark in her intent. Leliana, devoid of any emotion stares down into the elder dwarves eyes invoking fear.  
Brovil steps in front of the restrained dwarf, “This is not the time to play hero, friend. We have already spoke to the others. We know you hold the information we seek and our human friend here does not need you to find it.” The three dwarves, stand behind Leliana. Holding firm in the devotion to the cause, pressure the hardened dwarf.  
“My family, they will lose everything, I cannot betray the masters.” His pleas fall on empty hearts.  
“Your family will lose more than that if you refuse.” Leliana’s blade now beginning to cut in, just breaking flesh. The dwarf refuses, staring into the eyes of his enemy. He has made his position clear. Leliana’s eyes narrow as she cuts deep and fast leaving him lifeless on his stone throne.  
“Stubborn as ever.” She wipes her blade, with a delicate grace. His blood wiped from her hands. Shaking his head, “if they knew what they stand in favor of.” Brovil releases his disappointment.  
“Let’s recover what we came for, before anyone comes looking. Dispose of him.” Leliana begins searching the room. The dwarven brothers joining her while the scouts carry out the dwarf’s body to place him in the underground. Ano gestures to his brother, pointing at the lockbox behind the stone seat, still dripping fresh with blood. Brovil, picks the lock, revealing a key to the deep roads and some scribbled instructions on a parchment. Leliana has gathered some ancient texts. Collecting the items, the group leaves in haste; discovery not an option.  
Lavellan and her party have returned to Skyhold. Leaving the comforts of the elven village was bittersweet for them all. Although, it is clear that Muin was hit the hardest. Before Lavellan can take a moment to catch up, she must check in with her advisers. The Great Hall holds many voices, gossip and conversations echo around her. Whispers of the struggles of those questioning why they must release their slaves, twisting their stance into a kindness. Arguing that the elves know only, this way of life. Varric is busy at the table, warmed by the fire. Dealing with the release of his new series no doubt. Eager to get to business, Lavellan shadows this same focus as she makes her way to the war room. Passing Josephine as she gathers her paperwork to meet the call. Cullen and Leliana soon follow in behind. The map, still filled with the challenges facing the Inquisition.  
“The reports from Sera’s request have come in. It seems that a family in Val Royeaux had been funding a Magister's claimed research and on hearing word the Inquisition was hunting any rogue factions, had decided to pull their funding. In retaliation, the Magister cursed the head of the household, infecting him with a demon who was killing off the elven servants. It was an easy enough task to kill this demon. The connection to the magister, was the fruitful result. Uncovering these cells, is a major focus. Leliana has already sent spies to follow this lead.” The Magisters fate, set.  
“Why do I get the feeling that we will have to rid all of Tevinter to end this?” Cullen lets out his wish.   
“It would solve many issues, but would not look favorable.” Josephine answers his wishful thought.   
Cullen lets out an irritated sigh, his distaste for Orlais never held back.   
Josephine, reporting the meeting with Briala and Celene, “I am afraid you may need to stay your tongue, Cullen. You may find yourself attending an event sooner than later.” Josephine leads on to the affair they are planning, once they have settled the negotiations.   
“Leliana, I trust we have made progress with the dwarves?”   
“Indeed, we secured the documents and found a new passage in the deep roads that leads to a highly secured area. My scouts turned back, after discovering the manner in which it was guarded. It will need your attention. We have cleared the way, when you are ready.” Leliana points out the marker with such a delicate movement of hands.   
“Your full cooperation with Abelas and his elves will be needed, please send them any scrolls and artifacts needed for their research.”  
“Having the support of these clans is of dire importance.” Leliana takes the lead, knowing their seclusion is a life-or-death matter.  
One more trip out of the war room, one more walk past Josephine’s busy desk, the crackling of the fire. One more walk through the great hall, one more step towards the end. Lavellan walks up the steps, to meet with her dear friend. He has returned from his visit with the scholars and has much to discuss.  
“I never would have imagined, my father.” Dorian starts out with the immediate thought affecting him.   
“I assume his information was useful?”  
“Quite, with the information found we can directly tie the enslavement as well as the ties to the Magister’s involved in buying out of the dwarven treaties. Did you know that in these agreements, the dwarves sold their own people into the service of Tevinter? Just rewriting their history, no big deal.” Dorian rests his hand on his chin, “I wonder what greed must lay inside someone to agree to such terms, or demon.” Dorian, moving his hand from his chin looks solid at Lavellan.   
“You think possession was at play?”   
“What else could have influenced such an agreement, you’d have to have been mad. Oh! Take our people's freedom and rewrite the history to your favor. Sure sounds good to us!”   
“It's a valid point. Demons shaping history, just as gods. The fighting never ends, so much life wasted. Freedom lost, dreams broken, fear consuming everyone. These are not the works of gods.”  
“Are they not?” Dorian looks with intent at Lavellan. “Not every god has pure resolve, as you well know.”   
“Dorian, Corypheus was no god, though he begged for their power, he corrupted everything he took. Those are not the actions of a god.”   
“I suppose that makes sense, depending on how you view these gods.”   
“I view them as the forces that give us strength to fight what has imprisoned us all, to stop the corruption. Sometimes, the wrong people find them. Do you disagree?”   
“Not at all, in fact that view brings more comfort than you know.” Dorian walks towards the ledge of the rotunda. Looking down at the paintings, depicting Lavellan’s choices below. “If this is just a corruption, then it's something that might be fixed, cured. It means that my people have hope. We have a way out of being the all-evil Tevinter Imperium.” Dorian uses his vocal to stress the spooky sentiments people hold.   
“We have hope.” Dorian smiles in the optimism he holds. “Without you, who would even know of this hope? You never tire, going on as if they were written for you. Do you ever stop and wonder - what if we cannot stop it?” Dorian always keeping her in check. She smiles remembering that she beat him in their last game match. “Of course I wonder, but if I don’t have hope, then my path fades and we are left without trying, without knowing. I’d rather try and fail, than turn away.” Lavellan meets his play. “Plus, I have the company of some amazing people who I cannot let down. The world just would not be as wonderful without them in it.” Smiling in her cunning way she joins Dorian’s gaze down at the paintings below.   
“Do you ever miss him?”   
“Everyday.” She confides in her dear friend.  
Leaving her friend to his thoughts in this peaceful moment, Lavellan heads to the Great Hall balcony. Vivienne now in her service reestablishing the rite of circles and working to find a noble balance that favors all; Muin now replaces the enchanter’s position at the helm of the Hall. It is hard to remember how powerful the small elf is at times. Her delicate grace has such an easing pureness. Then again Lavellan has never been on the other side of her blades. Muin sits writing something down in haste. Lavellan stands waiting for the quill to stop as not to disturb her in her moment.   
“I greet you.” Muin says quietly as she finishes her letter, now standing to meet eyes with Lavellan.  
“I did not mean to interrupt.”   
“It is nothing, think no more of it. I just, I just wanted to get a message to Abelas.” Her face warms.   
“You two new each other well?”   
“He came to my village to help with our training, becoming a sentinel is not a feat that happens without much devotion. He helped me. I guess he saw more in me, than I saw in myself at the time. He helped me to learn beyond myself. If it were not for him, I don’t think I would have made it far. Though he refuses such notions.” She brushes back a long strand of hair that had found a way to fall from her pointed ear.   
“He was your trainer, that’s romantic.” Lavellan’s smile pushes at her for more detail.   
“Oh! No, no. I hold great honor for him, he was a great mentor. I own him much. Including my knee.” She smiles thinking of his bold rescue.  
“Oh come on, Muin. The looks you two shared tells me something more.” Lavellan pushes further. “In service…” Muin begins before Lavellan cuts her off. “You are freed of that service Muin, it is just us talking.”  
She smiles, knowing that Lavellan might not fully understand that her service remains, though she recognizes the gesture of inviting friendship.   
“I suppose there could be more, but it’s been so long. You understand, living without love, it never leaves you. It holds you, whispering dreams in the night. Never letting you go. What is a life worth living if there is not someone to share that with? When our kind lived in the magic, this wait would seem as nothing. Now that magic fades, we age as we lose more and more. It is frightening to not know what time you have.” Her hand, slender and frail brushes back a wisp of hair. Delicate in all of her features, it was immensely difficult to wrap ones head around her brutality; proving easy to become lost in her.  
“Are you at risk?” Lavellan more curious about how immortality works, breaks her gaze.  
“Not for as long as I hold our song, but if all is truly lost? I am uncertain of what happens to us. I sorrow for what you must struggle through, Lethallan. I hope you find the answer you need. Know this, as I have come to know you, I do truly hope you choose happiness.”   
“Do all of you have the ability to search inside ones thoughts and feelings so deeply?”  
“Do you not?” Muin questions Lavellan. “You cannot look at a friend and know what they feel or how they think? You carry this as well, but how much do you practice it? Do you visit them in dreams? Walking their path in the fade? They are spirits too, connected to the veil. In truth, we would know more of one another if we would just meet as spirits, nothing to obstruct from a deeper understanding.” With an ever-so graceful movement she invites Lavellan to join her.  
Unraveling the hard surfaces of the world and disclosing everything veiled. Together they stand, facing each other in Setheneran. “Here you can know me.”  
Muin smiles at her friend, ready to show her the pieces that make up who she is.  
A vision comes into focus as an aspect of Muin walks, swaying her hips slowly, to a fallen elf. The elf recently collapsed from battle – still breathing. His wounds mark him deep. Blood soaking his thin elven armor. His eyes already losing the light as he reaches for her, coughing up his blood from the wounds within. Like a vision, her light begins to glow. Her silken robes flowing open exposing her golden armor as she leans further down to face him. The tips of her long white hair falls to his body; adding another layer of red from his blood. Locking her eyes on the fallen elf she pulls what life is left inside of him out; releasing him from the torment that tore through his body. Her large gray eyes – sunken in and filled with despair – teem with tears as they begin to break. Those tears dropping down to her peach lips go unnoticed until one tickles her nose. Raising her dirty blood-stained hand to wipe the tear away, she looks up and out to see the many more fallen, left behind to die – reaching out still fighting for life. The bottoms of her robes stained in the elven blood and dirt from the broken ground. Her hands drop to her side, darkened from the many times she touched the wounds of all the elvhen, fallen to the war. As she slowly rises to walk to the next, Lavellan realizes that Muin must have touched every one of them in their last moments. The two elf’s watch as Muin’s story continues to unfold, a sentinel healer.   
Lavellan wakes finding herself in her bed, comforted in knowing her friend in spirit as well as the warrior that fights by her side. She no longer needs to understand Muin’s fight.


	11. Deep Down Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following their final lead from the Dwarves the party finds themselves in the deep roads.  
> Meeting with a demon who creates an... awkward situation for those in the party.  
> Their journey is only met with another trial that only Dagna may be able to release.

Deep Down Trouble

Cassandra waits for Lavellan to step out of her quarters, pacing the great hall. With much to address, her impatience permeates. The fires are burning a bit hotter this day or maybe she has just paced this room too long. Becoming Divine has been more eye-opening than she ever imagined. Never entering anything she does with a simple mind, her passion for justice and truth, seen in every choice she makes. All expected her to continue pushing the limits of what the Chantry represents and how the Seekers should continue. Still uneasy about allowing mages full rights to freedom, there is still much discussion on how to secure the safest path for all. Vivienne now securing her noble right in Val Royeaux has pledged to recover circles. Only allowing necessary controls. However, the push to educate is winning the battle in hopes that circles will become colleges. Holding the same place as a Chantry would in villages for those gifted.  
Lavellan exits her room and met readily by her thought filled friend.   
“What brings you this day?” Lavellan looks dearly at her friend.  
“Well, many things if I am to be honest. So much change happening it seems endless to keep up, at times.” Cassandra confiding in her friend.   
“And to think, we are at a beginning?” Lavellan smirks in a taunting way at her dear friend. “Ah, you must remind me, as if I needed more weight.” Cassandra’s well know grunt greets Lavellan with comfort, pleased to see the hat had not completely drown out her friend.   
“The dragon you came across has disappeared since your departure. It seems there is no connection to Tevinter.” Cassandra breaks the casualty.   
“So, whatever is in that temple must be guarded by the dragon, as Morrigan suspected?”  
“It appears to be so. The village also seems void of any Tevinter living there. In fact, it seems no one, beyond the occasional bandit, has any connection to the town. I am afraid that is as far as our reach has taken us on the matter, perhaps Morrigan can find out more from her sources.”  
“Well, I suppose that is a door that won't be opening anytime soon.”  
“It may be for good reason. Though Morrigan is still seeking to work with our dragonologist.” Cassandra expressing her concern of leaving what is well enough alone.   
“I believe Morrigan has good reason.”  
“Let us hope, Inquisitor.” Cassandra frowns at the alternative.   
“I am concerned about our relations with the Dwarves, Inquisitor. Long have they been in the service of Tevinter, as it seems. Every time any of them branched out to help their old elven friends, nothing good came of the union. I am sure you are familiar with the events of Cad'halash.”   
“When they tried to aid the elves who were escaping the fall of Arlathan, they were all killed by the dwarves of Kal-Sharok.” Lavellan shows her knowledge of the story.   
“You must know then…” Cassandra stops and looks toward Varric as he comes walking up.   
“I felt a ringing in my ears, should have guessed it was you. Let me guess you are about to delve into the stories of us dwarves?” Varric slyly exposing what he heard.   
“Do you just linger waiting for me to show up, Varric?” Cassandra showing her frustration.   
“Just want to make sure you don’t scare off our friend here, Divine.” Varric cuts back at her. “But, please continue, don’t let little old me stop you two.”   
Cassandra cuts down a look of irritation at Varric. “Like I was saying, nothing good has come from any attempts to break the hold Tevinter has on the dwarves and their precious economy. It’s been an alliance for two thousand years.” Cassandra finishes her interrupted thought.   
“For once Divine, I am afraid to say that I agree. They are a powerful alliance, no matter what was in the past.”   
“Honestly, our goal is securing what we need for any resistance they may bring. War is not my intent, but if we do face a threat, we need more than troops on our side. For now, our focus is on finding a cure and stopping those from entering the fade.” Lavellan clears the fears of a mighty march anytime soon.   
“Well, let’s just hope Leliana has been excessively careful in her talks and … securements.”  
“We are working closely, making sure every trace is covered Varric. Have some faith.”   
“This last journey, is risky from what Leliana has told me. The information, however, will uncover a solution.” Varric lets in his knowledge.   
“We best be off then.” Levellan cutting the conversation short, ready for what may come.   
“Just don’t go dying, we still need you to keep these crazy mage's from assaulting the fade.” Varric looks to Cassandra with a worry for their friend.   
“I pray Leliana is right.” Cassandra answers Varric’s concern.

Iron Bull sits at the bar, Krem and the chargers are out with Cullen’s men, addressing the leads given to them of the possible locations of the crazed Mage's and Templars. Lavellan steals the moment with her friend. “Are you ready to meet the deep roads again Bull?”   
“Ready and waiting boss. Nothing beats a fight along your side.” Bulls hold great honor in his face. She can see it now. “Well, then, grab Dorian. We are off.” Smiling and tapping her large friend on the shoulder as she stands to visit Sera and Cole before their departure.   
“I never understood dwarves. They are funny, yeah? So you are going to get whatever it is to make things not sick anymore, right?” Sera shows more desperation than Lavellan had noticed before. Her spirit is playful, but her face holds meaning and purpose. She doesn’t just push it all away, she holds it like a child, trying to understand it, but she can’t or won’t allow herself.   
“That’s the plan, you hear of any news?”   
“Yeah, some guy named Thrull was asking around about you, says he wants a challenge. Not sure what that’s about, but I’d keep an eye out.” Sera goes back to her mumbling. As Lavellan walks her way out and up to see Cole.  
“They use it. They infect what is not sick. That scares me.”   
“We will stop it Cole.”   
“If we don’t, everything dies.” Cole, never known for using comforting words to hide the truth they all face.  
Scout Harding has set up a thorough camp, preparing for the Inquisitors arrival.  
“Inquisitor, bandit activity has been seen in the area. It seems there is a bandit leader prowling the area. But, every time we sent troops out, they were nowhere to be found. It’s kind of odd.”  
“Thank you, Scout Harding.”  
Out on the roads, the party has walked for some time now. Meeting with bandits and bounty hunters. Nothing new for the party of friends. The roads they walk, well used. Open lands filled with slight hills and grassy landscape topped with a big blue sky above, holding the bright sun. Mountains shadow in the background as they walk toward their map location. A well-worn wooden bridge comes into view, slight glistens of metal show there may be bandits ahead.  
“Well, that’s not very stealthy.” A sigh from Dorian in play.  
“If you want I can bounce an arrow off one of ‘em, just to let them know we are here.” Varric joins the jest. The party quiets now as they approach the group ahead. “Inquisitor!” A voice calls out. “I have come to challenge you!” A large man, amassed in heavy armor and a huge sword steps out.  
“He wears the Mercy’s Crest.” Bull lets out what they all sharply recognize.  
“He does have a mighty sword.” Dorian breaks out… “What? Nobody? Where is Sera when you need her?” Dorian lets out his disappointment with the lack of follow-up.  
“So, you have come to challenge me, for the Blades? I suppose nothing will change your mind?”  
“Please say no, please say no…” Everyone can hear Bulls hushed chant in the background.  
“I have come to challenge you.” Nothing more said, as the brute draws his sword.  
“So be it.”  
The brute and his men put up a good fight, but their might was no match for the group, experienced as they were.   
“Disappointing,” Bull mumbles.  
“Just think of it as a warm up.” Dorian suggests.  
The group had honestly forgot that Lavellan was leader of the Blades. It almost seems trivial.   
“So, that was the almighty Thrull?”   
“Why was he even considered a lead?”  
“I don’t know, but I like this sword.”  
“You know what they say when the ego is bigger than the sword.”  
Laughter breaks out among the friends. Continuing, the stones double in size as the path begins to narrow. The party now walled in by the large stones carved from the rocks. Guarding there limited space, they walk down the path. The smell of dirt fills the air, stale as if there had not been a breeze blow in ages. Small rocks kick underfoot, the ground thirst’s here, cracking under the dry conditions. Any sign of greenery has long been missing on this path. The stone darkens and becomes glossy in texture as they approach their marked location. Old weathered pillars mark what once must have been the massive entrance to this roads site. A Smokey mist, showing hints of red, floats in the air around them as they approach the once grand entrance. Silence holds the tongues of everyone. In this moment, they know answers lay behind those doors or a lost fate awaits them. Breath held tight in their lungs. Minds unraveling battle stances, movements, cunning plays in preparation.   
Dirt dusts the air heavy. Small stones tap at the ground as the great doors push open. Metal, cutting through silence, the opening looking like a crack compared to their full ability. It's all they need to slide their bodies through. The stone walls keep their natural form. Pillars carved in place, eluding to a purpose they do not hold. The smooth stone floors go inward in great length. Recent activity exposed by the wooden carts left broken. Bodies of looters dot the floors. Most likely left from Leliana’s scouts.   
“I guess we are not alone in our interested of this place.” Lavellan opens her thoughts.   
“From the looks of the bodies, they are just looters.” Varric tries to calm the intensity they all feel.   
“We do know guards are nearby.” Lavellan answers keeping them focused. Her disposition changed in these moments. What was once soft in her, you’d never know, if having only seen her on the battlefield. She strikes no immediate fear in those who oppose her, their arrogance keeps them feeling superior. However, once her blades become drawn and the eyes behind her light up echoing the same, the mood quickly changes. They appear as quickly as spirits and as brutal as demons. A fierce pack, skilled with intent. Idealized, they stand as guardians of what is righteous. Gifted by the gods, led by the hand of the Maker – they are champions. This does not hold true in the eyes of those who oppose the rebel Inquisition. Blood stains every one of their hands, trickery and deceit follows. A pack of wolves craving the power, the Nightmare holds.  
With footsteps light on the surface of the stone, the party presses on down the long stone deep road. A carved room enclosed behind a small doorway. Inside, must lay the old merchants office or a guard station. Shelves, a desk, and chair carved out in the stone, show its purpose. The room stripped clean of anything of immediate value. A small parchment lay trampled in the corner. The writing is not legible, but the people back at Skyhold will be able to make more out. Continuing their walk further into the stone, bedrolls and crates – used as tables – begin to mark the path. Confirming the reports of Leliana’s scouts.  
“Shall we continue?” Dorian, having already surveyed the camp, sees nothing of value and presses the party onward. After a long walk, surrounded by droll walls, the road turns, opening to a set of curved stone steps that lead further down. This road, built with haste. The air around them does not open to a cool mist, nor a brighter path. The deep, darkness of the road below beckons death, harrowing at their fears. 

“Hm, what a lovely welcome.” Dorian jests, revealing his knowledge of the magic lingering. Bodies lying lifeless mark the steps as they lead deeper down into the stone. A desolate opening, leading down like an endless pit, spirals a command – attempting to pull at their wills. “I would imagine a warrior of lesser willpower would jump right on off.” A comment comes forth from the Tevinter mage. Tested on more commanding levels, the party moves on in ease. However, this pull gains strength as their feet hit the smoothed surface, continuing the road, at the bottom of the stairs.   
“Er, damn deep roads.” Bull lets out expressing the resistance they must muster.  
“We must be getting close.” Lavellan relieves the moment as Dorian casts a barrier around them, warding off the ill intended magic.

“There are guards up ahead.”  
“Everybody ready?” Bulls tone setting the moment.  
Rage demons lurk around two wraith, standing on guard in front of two arcane warriors. Devising their plan, the party splits into their roles. Dorian guarding Lavellan while directing casts at the Arcane. Bull heading the distraction pulling the wraith away, and Varric picking away at any opponent Lavellan digs her blades into. Their tactics successful and they overcome the first barrier of protection left here. Further down the empty road, the song darkens weaving a sickness, they all feel stirring within. If Cole were here he would be telling them all to not listen. Luckily, it is not the first time they have felt this sickness.   
A new set of doors stand before the party. This section of the roads built for another purpose. Off in the distance, from the point they stand at now. They can see a slight shadow of the pillars marking the main deep road and the broken, obviously purposely blown up road that connects their location to it. This area possibly build to house a guard or caretaker of the area. It may have another purpose than intended. Opening the doors to this hollowed out cave, the room boasts towers of the Red Lyrium. Like roots it has gripped on the surface of the stones, the disease has taken ahold. In the middle of the room, a stone table holding a scroll in a magically sealed container, sits on the table; fully enclosed in a giant red lyrium vein.  
“Well shit.” Varric breaks the silence.   
Another moment does not pass before they meet with a desire demon.   
“Why do you come to this place, elf?” The demons voice inviting and warm.   
“Show yourself!” Lavellan commands of the demon.  
She appears, as a sexual vision, naked in her purple skin. A chain connects between her generous breasts, clamping the demons nipples. She exudes a sexual prowess that’s hard to deny.  
“A hot demon chic, sweet!” Bull breaks the moment.   
“No, not sweet.” Dorian cautions.  
“What, adorable friends you have.” The demon traces her hand up her thigh, tempting the party.  
“Who has led you here?” Lavellan resists her rouses.  
“I do not answer to you, elf!” The demons voice, dark, scratches at their minds.   
“You chose to stay here?” Lavellan tries to reason with the she-beast.   
“I take what I wish, elf.” Her gaze breaking into Lavellan’s will with the sickness in her dark eyes. “It has been such a long time, I do so treasure visitors.” She resumes her play pressing harder at the parties resolve. “You come for answers, what price is worth having them, elf?” The demon makes her play, lowering her torso, teasing her way around their minds. “None you can offer.” Lavellan’s hardened spirit compacting down on the demon.   
“Come now, be reasonable, we do not have to fight.” Her taunts continue.   
“Enough of this! Ma emma harel.” She commands down the demons will, signaling an attack.  
Her fight she takes to the air as the demon plays around in her weightlessness, continuing to taunt the party, as it casts its magic at the well-trained group. Calling up several other demons she commands. The souls of those who fell to the demons ruses since its presence in this lost ruin. Exposing its well skilled ability or the weakness of those who tempted their fate before. Either way, the desire demons power is strong and her fight lasting. Breaking opening the last healing potion, Lavellan tosses it to Bull who has been taking the damage, as he draws their attention from the rest of the party. He spins his mighty hammer around finishing off what remains. The desire demon becomes the focus of defeat. They dig deep, summoning every last ounce of power to aid their fight. Finally, she falls to their attacks, unable to pull anymore will from what surrounds her.   
“Well, I don’t know about you guys, but that was the hottest fight I’ve ever had.” Bull pokes around at the circumstances that exposed a usually… hidden side to all of their natures.   
“I’m glad that is over.” Lavellan dismisses his jests, just wanting it to end.   
“That demon must have been here for ages.” Varric outspoken about the skill the demon held.  
“Now we just have to get whatever is in there – out.”   
“We can’t just break it?” Lavellan confused by the comment, as they have destroyed many in the past.  
“This one is rooted to something greater, possibly the beginning. Contact with this may infect us all.”  
“Aren’t the dwarves resistant?” Lavellan brings up a valid point.   
“You know who we need?” Varric now inspired by the mention. “Dagna, if anyone can do anything with it, it would be her.”   
We need to get word to the scouts back at camp. They can send word and set up a proper guard of the area. The team leaves, but not before searching the demon. It holds an amulet of power and a belt of superior spirit resistance. “Those would have been helpful before we killed her, don’t you think?” Dorian refers to the loot found on the demons remains.


	12. From Below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning to Skyhold it seems our Inquisitor is ready to face the choice that comes to  
> meet her; many months after the fall of Corypheus.

From Below

Having drinks at the tavern, Lavellan enjoys the company of a few of her closest friends. Bull is already becoming garrulous after who knows how many drinks, raised in praise. He has inappropriately gone on about killing a “sex demon” for the better part of the hour now. Sera is trying to push the images out of her head, having no interest in viewing tits and demons in the same picture. Blackwall has come in, after months of leading some of the Inquisition forces to rid the lands of those remaining focused to Corypheus’ cause. His appearance, a welcomed treat. Sera turns to listen to him boast with stories of the mages he’s been taking down, his joy in defending this rebellions cause, shines in these moments. Dorian is looking more relaxed, an opposite reaction expected after what occurred with his father. The pride has switched sides it seems, proving the heir to have great influence. Lavellan cannot help but notice the ease this creates in the mage, as his eyes sparkle and his smile warms any who look at him. Varric is just happy he is out from under the ground and that is enough for him to raise his stein. The group grows even louder as Krem and the Chargers walk in. Glad to be back in a place they now see as home. Bull loudly yells in their direction, “Horns UP!” As he knocks into a chair or two to meet them. Praises go even higher now. The Tavern now taken over by the growing party as the minstrel sings and the barkeeper keeps the drinks pouring. Laughter overshadows as she plays. The group gathers more and more members, as everyone is ending their day and wanting to join the sounds stirring from the tavern.  
Lavellan excuses herself, knowing she has much to plan in the coming days and the drinks are already turning her sideways. She looks up to Cole who is watching the group celebrating below and gives him a beaming smile and sends a wave. A gesture that means much to the spirit. A change in the emotion, happy she remembers. Muin stands by him, holding a drink of her own, showing that she is not, all spirit, as she laughs at Krem buried under Bulls arm. She stops a moment to wave back at Lavellan’s smile, then nudges Cole to look at Sera, who has just pulled out a hat she recently acquired from a nobles house.  
Moments like these will never be conveyed in history. Maybe they should be, this freedom should have a voice – the elf thinks as she walks out into the cold night air.

The morning came faster than expected. Trying to recover from the beast that sits on her head. A little elfroot in her tea. She needs to regain focus. The desire demon stirred more in her than she knew to prepare for. Focusing on will and guarding the parts of yourself it tries to expose, the parts you don’t want anyone to see, takes a massive amount of effort. Battles are never just about blade and blood. Every fight is a battle of will and spirit as well. A clear thought emerges. Above and below, she has heard that many times. References that she pushed to the rear of her mind until now. Going beyond the obvious, she never thought of how many points those words touched. Images connecting in her mind now. Nothing can exist above if not below, she cannot exist below without above, nothing is fixed unless they or more accurately she, has both. She has found the answer, now to face the question and make a choice. Undoubtedly a choice to shape everything again, once more.  
“Dagna has cleared the vein holding the vase, we have what we need. There may have been more reason for these mages to enter the fade.” Leliana confides the discovery. “The red lyrium, carried there after its corruption here; planted like a seed. An assault on the place all magic comes from, meant to destroy it all. Luckily, it moves slowly there. This could well be the reason the gods had been locked away. We find the seed these roots grow from, we kill it. Whatever that seed is, it seems it is living in someone or something alive. This may take more than we have."  
“You mean what we have here.” Lavellan discloses her piece in the play.  
“Yes, there is still a door we have yet to knock on. One that will have to answer.” Morrigan places her piece down as well.  
“I suppose you refer to going into the fade.” Cullen questioning what has to happen.  
“We have no other choice.” Cassandra standing in on the meet.  
“No, this is too big for us, we don’t have access to everything and the search will take longer than we may have. We need to seek out those that can help give us more direction, through the fade.” Lavellan confirms the next move.  
“We will be sure to plan a soiree for your return.” Josephine tries to lighten the mood. All of them knowing that dangers unknown, await.  
They break to prepare for the next day to come.

Another old friend gone, turned from her purpose. A spirit of wisdom, such a terrible loss. Knowing what comes next a new pain to add to the old he still suffers. Her lips, breaking through the moment. Soft and inviting. Her heart, hopefully hardened to prepare for what is to come. A rebellion now firmly in place, how he tires of the fighting. A world that should have never been, his sorrow to bare. He became familiar with, in ways attached to what was there, or who was there. He knows the call that beckons. Opening that door, when she knocks, will be the moment it all comes to. Until that knock comes, he must wait devising the next play.

Morrigan, Muin, Cassandra, and Cole stand by waiting for Lavellan. Morrigan is sure the door they need, lay behind the dragon who guards the abandoned temple. It is their remaining lead, all of their research, has led to the desolate village of Solas in Tevinter. Such is how fate works. Connecting what now seems too obvious. Every contact, every ally waits, holding their hopes high wondering if their risks will pay off. From ancient elven clans, down to the shapers of stone, even to the reaches of Tevinter Magister’s, all risking everything that they are; a fate she must answer for them all. What this will lead to is a weight she knowingly holds. The companions, advisers, and spirits she has to consult – all leading her to this moment. A trusting accord, a ferocious pack. Thousands of eyes glowing behind her. Ready and willing to serve her command. Their continued survival relies on her ability to gain the most powerful alliance of all. One that waits locked away. Will it open when she knocks?  
Her nerves are steady ready to face what comes. Never knowing what the Fade will hold, she has to prepare mentally as much as physically. Remembering the burns the desire demon left, protecting what will be used against her or taken away she now knows that light can lead her, darkness does not have to be her guide.   
Walking out of her quarters into the empty Halls of Skyhold, she meets her companions signaling the start of their journey. The desolate village that holds the last door she needs to walk through, marking an end to this hunt, calling to her. Everyone noticing a change in their Inquisitor. An intense presence, holds the moment. She is not friend or foe in this moment, she is their leader. Her eyes holding the fierce temperament of everything she holds. Morrigan nods in approval, a faint smile paints her face. Muin stands in honor, pleased to see the light within her kin. Cole stand with his blades ready to serve. Cassandra happy to have her blade back in her hand nods her head in pride. Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine stand ready to see their Inquisitor off. The spies gather, ready to lead the party to the wasted land. As all of Thedas is going on about their lives, having no clue that history’s path is being laid. The secrets of this hunt, well-kept. The group begins their long journey to the Silent Plains.

The haze of these desert plains, reflects against the party’s armor. The burning sun beating down. The village is just in the distance, barely seen behind the blowing sand. Knowing their passage waits behind a beast of great strength, they reserve everything they have, for the fight that awaits. The bodies still lay, now covered in sand, from their previous visit. No one has come to take new claim of the area, its desolation – a still reminder of what protects this ruin. Morrigan awaits her call, building up the will she needs as the team digs deep within their own wills. A few more steps and they are beyond the sandstone walls. The energy already changing as the party looks on the dragon, its massive black form curled up in front of the ruin it protects. Lavellan raises her arm, blade hushed, ready to give the signal. Morrigan waits behind the walls, listening for the growl of the dragon to signal her charge. Cassandra’s hand firmly gripping her blade, as her knuckles turn white under her armor. Muin holds a blade in one hand and begins charging her magic in the other, finding her fighting stance. Cole disappears fading into his spirit form, pulling his blades from his back crossing down over his head.  
With a drop of her arm they begin the fight, waking the sleeping black beast to a fight for its survival. Blades cut into the dragons legs, penetrating deep into its hardened skin. Muin throws a barrier as the dragon turns to face her. Helping to deflect the guardian’s attacks, she casts her destructive light. Cassandra proving she is still a dragon hunter, fierce in ability, relentlessly slashes the beast causing it to spin and jump trying to avoid the painful annoyance. Cole fearlessly attacks the other leg, putting all of his force into his poisoned cuts. Lavellan meets his ability, in hopes to trip up the dragon, maiming its stand. The party, constant in their attacks awaits Morrigan’s entrance to the fight. Conjuring magic and building her will, Morrigan calls on every power available to her, as her metamorphosis begins. Knowing their match will take to the skies, even the gods will take note of their arrival. One kick, steady into the air, her flight takes form. The dragon wounded, senses the challenge as it spreads its wings to meet the taunt, in the skies. Two mighty beasts tumbling throughout great height. Clawing at each other. Morrigan means to catch the beast and throw it to the ground, burying it in the untouched sands. The rest of the party runs outside the walls to meet the plan, ready to finish off what life might remain in the dragon. As if it written, she gains the advantage over the guardian. Its flight weakened from the fight below, Morrigan’s stretched claws grab the beast pushing it toward the sands below. Landing it hard on the sands sending a cloud of dust into the air. She falls out of the dragon form gracefully, remembering the hit she took in the battle of Corypheus. The beast lay broken, still breathing. Not much more effort is needed to finish off what will it has left. As the party thrashes the beast with magic’s and blades. The guardian finally gives up its fight, releasing its life. A mighty force blasts past them all, knocking them to the ground. Whatever spirit guided the beast, it has left as well. The party searches through the remains, gathering what the beast had collected over the years. Wounded, and out of potions they make their way back to the unknown temple.  
The doors released from the magic that bound them, push open. The friends met with the old smooth stone of the temple. A dank, stale smell of mossy dust fills their senses, as a wide passage leads them toward a large room. There are no emblems, no mosaics, nothing to show that this is an elven ruin. Plain sandstone set in large blocks resembling the same design they saw at Solasan Temple in the Hidden Oasis. Echoes are all that meet their steps. In the center of the rear wall, lay another large set of doors with the images of two dragons, one head held up the other looking down. On the sides of the simple stone door, a cache of potions set discreetly in a wooden crate.   
“There is magic behind this door, faint. Does the door stand unprotected?” Morrigan lets on what whispers she finds.  
“What protected it lay in the sands outside Morrigan. But what defends it on the inside?” Muin releases her knowledge of where this door now leads.   
“So this is our entrance, into the Fade?” Revealing her understanding, Cassandra catches on.   
“It leads to place within the Fade, yes.” Muin answers the preparation.   
“It won’t let me see!” Cole shouts out in frustration, his face showing a look of pain.   
Muin steps over and places her hand on the spirit. “Your moment will come, Cole. Be at peace.”  
Morrigan pushes the stone doors open with the help of the others.   
Placed in the middle, on a raised platform, with two smaller mirrors on each side, stands the eluvian. The stones on the floor leading to the eluvian are familiar to Lavellan as she once walking a similar path, in the Temple of Mythal.   
“This must be the ritual to open the door.” Morrigan says in a positive tone looking over at Lavellan, who is familiar with the magic. She does not even feel the need to take a moment, she walks around the room and each stone lights up golden, as she puts meaning into her steps. Wrapping all the way around and up the steps to land on the last piece, right in front of the door. The whole room glows golden for a moment; the magic then falls light.  
The door glows, opening to the young elf, the magic now hers. Morrigan looks on as a mother would to a daughter. Knowing more than the elf does at this moment and proud of how far she has come; still in fear of what choice she will make, she holds faith. The rest of the group meets her up on the platform. Lavellan takes a deep pause. Releasing her breath, she steps through her door.


	13. Now Above

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final Chapter reveals Dread Wolf.  
> Lavellan's choice is made.

Now Above

Walking through the door, the stone shines dark in the Fade. The silence here stirs within ones being. Power sparks in the reflections of the glistening stone as sorrow weeps down the very same stone.   
“Lavellan”, Morrigan’s voice firm echoes in the silence. “If there were ever a time to still your heart.” Morrigan showing worry, for the elf. Muin puts her hand on Morrigan’s arm to stop her from what she might say next. The friends walk slowly, uneasy in the unknown around them, as they approach a set of steps. The stone holds old elven carvings and begins to twist into the shape of a place lost long ago. It’s cold and dark. Echoes mark the openness of this haunted place. The feeling in the room keeps tense as Muin holds firm to Coles arm. Looking on he stands fixed in the moment. Morrigan is beginning to get visions, she knows something. “Lavellan, you must meet them alone, but we will be close enough to hear your call.” Muin breaks the heavy moment with a calm, allowing ease to enter the space. Lavellan is radiating with feelings that are pulling, pushing, tearing, and crying within her. Her blood, shaking in her veins with expectation, as she walks up the steps slowly. She can feel the pull, calm and inviting. Each lights up a bright glimmering, with the forgiving placement of her foot.  
Reaching the top, the image has come into its full form. A place worthy of a god set before her eyes. It glistens dark, but the splendor is clear. The beauty nothing like the fade back at Adamant. Pieces whole, but somehow still not complete. She feels light here, like she should lift upwards. Her feet touch the surface firmly, but the sensation is more like a glide than a firm placement. Settling herself, focusing on what is real, on what is solid. The stone – she whispers finding herself again, her heart now back in rhythm with her breath. Spirits begin to stir, focus returns as she walks toward the visions. At first a vision, a conversation between two, whispers of an old war; scared, shadowed in red light, a trace from a time before. Walking up closer, spirits are crying over a loss, but the image is hard to make out. The area is starting to radiate in awoken light. Arches frame the scene before her and light gleams from the cracks, in the old darkened elven stone. The timid elf continues to walk up closer to a form set in the middle of the room. The statue of a wolf, howling upwards.  
As if they were never there, the traces of spirits all disappear as the silence falls hard. Walking to the statue, invited by a light shining from behind. Beginning to feel aware, something she knows warms her. Uncertain, she walks behind the statue, a slight passage holding the light towers high out of sight. The ground has become like the forest, grassy and warm. Walking down the passage, stone comes into light. The passage opens to a room that towers in height. Its beauty overcomes her for a moment. Crystal spires rising past the ability of sight. The song is beautiful, almost pulling her out of her own skin, as the light shines down illuminating her form. Unfocused by the towers, Lavellan finds herself caught off guard. Something is with her now. Looking over, a statue … no, a person stands shaded in an unlit passageway. Fading off, leaving whispers of a song behind. Lavellan pulls her sight from the spires and runs to follow. The passageway begins to warm with a slight light, just as the others. This one opens to a ruin she knows all too well. Nodding her head a bit, reminding herself that this place forms differently than below. The two halla tower over the old bath, the water draws her in, filling with desperate emotions, her breath stilled. She feels the sensation, the tingling on her skin wrapping around her, drawing her in.  
“You hunt well, Lethallan.” The voice calmly states.   
Her heart stops, frozen. This moment held heavy, her chest fills, bursting for a moment. She is oddly calm, dispassionate. Her skin warms and mind unwinds; regaining focus, a breath.  
“Solas?” Her voice barely making it past her lips.  
Stepping out of the darkness and meeting her in the same spot he had left her many months before, she now stands face-to-face with the mage. Half of her wanting to just grab him and embrace him, the other wanting to pull every answer from his mind. She stands unsure of this moment. She thought she was facing a fight, is she still? He stands guarded.  
“What are you … she starts to say, but knowing better she finishes her sentence … why here?”  
“This is the answer you are seeking, is it not?” He states with a calm manner, both hands lay at his side as if to say, I surrender – the truth.   
“You are who can help? What they … all of them have led me to?” Overcome with emotion, the pieces of herself she thought so guarded, every one of them… knew. Morrigan, Muin, and Cole had been preparing her for this moment all along; all of them directing her in differing positions. Compassion for healing the hurt of two souls lost from each other. Muin for the future of the elven people. Morrigan for the distrust in godly matters, always the voice to create doubt, focus, and direction. Her thoughts broken, knowing he is even reading them, had she ever been alone?  
“Why did you leave? Why are you here? Who are you?” The questions she can no longer contain spilling out of her mouth, uncontrolled.  
Keeping his distance from the woman he almost lost himself to, he beings to address her in complete control, stilling his heart. These questions you deserve the answers to, Lethallan. Please know, I had every intent to tell you. However, I had to consider that if you knew, then you would have no choice but to be a part of what was to come. I could not force that on you. As you can see, how could it be? I have a duty. I cannot abandon them, for my own wants.” He begins.  
“Force me? Solas I can make my own decisions.” Lavellan makes her plea.  
“Yes, but with so many distractions, the unknown magic in your hand; Corypheus, the people. You had so much weight on you, how could I have trusted that you would not regret whatever decision you made?” Solas argues humbly.  
“I suppose you could not have known.” Lavellan drops her guard, showing her understanding.  
“I have longed walked this world. I once roamed the halls of kingdoms long-lost to the manipulations of the humankind. I once stood as a Pantheon for our people, the burden you have come to know, I have carried. I made choices – as you have – trying to shape the world for our people, while protecting what we had, from the grasp of those who wanted to destroy the magic we hold. Our own people, Lethallan, turned against us.” His passion starting to weigh heavy in his voice. “The spirits were in danger, dying, I had to protect them. I tried to reach the people. Chased away as the dalish who could not turn their sights from the lore that they had become to believe. The more they held to it Lethallan, the more real it became. Even as I fought for their freedom, the same fight you suffer through now. Pushing themselves further and further away, scattered. They were in fear. Without their gods, the imagery they held higher than themselves. All they saw was revenge, refusing the spirits. They turned away and everything we tried to protect fell, once again.”  
“Fen’Harel take the dalish,” looking up at him with full eyes. “They caused our people to fear you, twisting the story.” (He must have had great respect for you, touched by rebellion and you didn’t even flinch. If ever a time to still your heart, does she know? When the times comes for your choice, refuse vengeance… Voices echo in her memory. Abelas knew as well? Connected to them all along.  
“Yes, they call me, Dread Wolf. Refusing to see reason, they hid behind the same fear that kept them from their own freedom.” Solas now standing with his hands clasped behind his back. Glad to see understanding. “When I awoke to see everything I had caused.” His voice drops into his heart.  
“Did you think I would run, Solas?” Lavellan reminds him of the friendship they had.  
“I did not know, in times of passion we, we sometimes act on choices that we should think on. You yourself said that you were not sure if the magic from the orb had changed you. How would you be making a clear decision, a free thought?” Solas argues mildly. “But now you come of your own ambition, your own choice. You could have stopped, you could have ended this, but you fought more. You made a choice to free a world, one that you do not even fully understand. Your wisdom overshadows those who came before you. Your choices, not made of selfish ambition or lust for revenge, you are a pure free spirit, Lethallan and you allow the spirits to hold importance in this world."  
“Solas, I have come to know the spirits, just as I have come to learn of the people. There is good and it overcomes.” Lavellan stands firm, in her own position, no longer a shadow of someone else.  
“Yes, and you could have dismissed it. You could have taken power for your own intent. But, you never hardened your heart.” Solas says looking down as if to shadow shame.  
“Well, I am here now, Solas.” Lavellan falling easily into the moment.  
“That you are and now you know… part of the truth.” His voice breaks through her thoughts. “I have deeply betrayed you. But, I cannot be free Lethallan. I made a choice that has caused ruin and nearly took everything away. The people are not free and cannot be without our magic. It was my fault that Corypheus had the orb. I could not keep it from his grasp. When I awoke to see what I had caused, how could I look away? How could I just tend to my selfish desires when so many suffered because of me? How could I then, make you a part of it?” Holding for a moment he asks her the question that weighs heavy over everyone. “What do you plan to do now?” He searches her over to learn of her purpose.  
The decision that she has prepared for, now right in front of her. A fate hanging in the midst.  
“Solas, you fought with us. You helped. Those are not the actions of someone who deserves seclusion. You made a choice to help.” Lavellan eases her gestures and slowly walks closer to Solas, showing no sign of fear. She places her hand delicate on his begging cheek. “You don’t have to do this alone.” With more love than he has ever known, she whispers the sweetest words he has ever heard, “I forgive you.” Placing her forehead gently against his, she means him to feel her and know that she intends him to know the voice of the many who still hold hope in the return of their freedoms.  
In that moment the room filled, full, bursting brightly. His body glowing in a blue haze. The darkness that held the form around them was lifting and the beauty of old elven magic envelops the room. The song bursting through. A soul worth holding. Softly he turns his face towards her lips, his arms wrap around her waist. His body embracing hers, holding her tightly against his form. His gaze focused effusively on her, full, filled with passion. Becoming lost in the moment, he let's go and places his lips fully on hers. Now shining with the same glowing aura, she softly releases Solas, as she becomes enveloped in a whirling spirit, which seems to soak into her. Her breath creeps from her lips, in a golden smoke. The elf holds her chest tight, as it fills with an essence that surges through her. The others come running in, drawn by the magical force released, and all stand in awe as Solas and Lavellan fall to their knees. Solas is still holding to her as she falls partially into his arms. Morrigan looks on in shock. Muin calmly smiles. Cole, holding Muin’s hand, is glowing brightly in his smile. Cassandra draws her sword.  
Lavellan looks up at Solas, Solas looking back in shock, “I didn’t...” He begins, but stops to see if she is, still … she. Helping her to her feet. He looks on in worry, confused himself, not expecting her to accept him. Lavellan pushes up into a stand, looking herself over.   
“What do you feel?” Solas reaches for insight.  
“I feel… I feel… complete.” Lavellan says, looking herself over not knowing what just happened.  
“So it has begun.” Muin states tenderly.  
“They get to begin, if he chooses to forget the parts that made him dark. She forgave so he could be free.” Coles begins to unravel the moment. “Purity, beating down in her blood old and new. She chooses her purpose. He doesn’t have to be alone.” Cole whispers the words like a heartbeat.  
“Dread Wolf? But, I sense Mythal, where is…” Morrigan states in confusion. Focusing her thoughts, she can now hear the story from the whispers left.  
All around them the story plays out, as traces of spirits show the history lost in stories. Solas, a young elf holding pride, in all his people were. Leading wars to gain freedom for their people. He was there, when Andraste fell, unknowing that she had already gave up the spirit of Mythal to her child. A gift that she kept from him, betraying him and sending him back, alone once more. For ages he slept, awoken when she needed him, left alone when she finished with his aid; feeling the weight of blood on his head. He was just a companion, a wolf to protect. Let out of his cage when she chose. Again, the call pulled at him and as he awoke, there stood one with great power. Alone, he could not face him, with no one there to aid him the heavens broke open and the world met with war against the demons he kept away. Only this time, he left before betrayal came and he took what should have been given to him long ago. Something refused by the friend who called herself, Flemeth. He’ll have to do it alone. Images of Flemeth releasing Mythal into Solas fade away. Morrigan holds her head in her hand, speechless for a moment, her thought pushes forth. “Flemeth is gone? You, you now carry Mythal?” Morrigan feels a sense of relief and disbelief.   
“She meant it to go to you, her daughter, as she had done for many years. Her wish for vengeance has long ruled over the lands, betraying any who stood in her way, hoping you would carry that sentiment on.” Solas looks to answer the witches concerns.   
“So, I am bound now, to you? What about…?” Morrigan trying to gain understanding in a moment that floods her with emotion, she holds her tongue. Unsure if she should reveal her thought.   
“You have served us in far greater terms than your mother, Morrigan. You protected our people’s secrets at any cost. You have proven yourself, for far too long, to be without your freedom. I do not seek to bind you, but I do hope that you will continue to aid us in bringing peace to the people.” Solas gives a slight bow never breaking eye contact with the witch, letting her know they will be watching regardless; though not with malice. “Flemeth may well remain, she has tasted immortality and still seeks her vengeance. By refusing to give up Mythal, she has kept the others locked away. Refusing to return Mythal to her place, among our people driven by her purpose. If she does have a plan, I do fear what may come. Urthemiel was one of the tainted ones after all.”   
“So the gods are, held in the beyond?” Cassandra asks seeking a knowledge lost to them all for so long.  
“The spirits were placed safely in the beyond, to keep them from the corruption. There are whispers that remain, known as the forgotten ones, passed along into those who walk the world below. Some corrupted by the blight, others seeking refuge in the bodies of those willing to protect them. They cannot enter this place, lost, as they either carry on to help the people below or had become corrupted by those who called to them.” Solas explains to the Divine, knowing her words hold great weight over the people.  
“So you didn’t trick them all? Locking them all away?” Morrigan distracted and fascinated connecting the whispers of those who served with the words now coming from Mythal.  
“It was not trickery for those who are safe, but the others, the forgotten ones may hold a different sentiment. It was a mistake to leave them; however, at the time, a choice had to be made. Mythal had fallen and waiting any longer could have led to corruption of them all. Do we risk corrupting everything, or do we save what we can?” Solas expresses the conflict that they all know the implications of.  
“But, isn’t Mythal a goddess?” A question to be asked by a society, still enveloped by the Chantry tales.  
Solas smiles at the Divine, knowing her thirst for understanding. “Spirits do not bare gender, the vessels that carry them do.”  
“What spirit does she then carry?” Cassandra finally able to speak the question left to her misunderstanding.  
“She carries what she has had all along, a pure spirit now aided by a spirit trapped long in one indentured to another.” He looks to Lavellan with an overwhelming sense of love.  
“The spirit you held for so long stands… by your own side – rebellion.” Muin smiles, knowing that her friend is the right choice to lead what may come.  
Morrigan looks to Muin, “You knew, you knew the whispers as well?” Morrigan reveals that she did indeed mean to lead Lavellan to the Dread Wolf's calling, but she never thought it would be to rule beside him.  
“I did indeed know her calling, we are all connected through the song, as you are now to us, Keeper of the Well. The power held in love, is strong enough to forgive. She could have betrayed him, but now she will protect us.” Muin smiles, knowing that good is to come for their people.  
“It was not his plan. He meant to carry it himself, but she forgave him, she allowed him to be free.” Cole shines brightly. “He came to know betrayal, something he feared would come, so he left to keep her from that choice; he didn’t know, he thought it better this way.” Cole reveals the age-old pain the elf carried, from the times betrayed by those he gave aid.  
“I never intended you to…” Solas begins. Realizing the beauty remains in her spirit. How could he have expected them to not be drawn to her?   
“I’d never abandon you, wolf, you’d been such a good friend, Tel'abelas.” Lavellan smiles reading his thoughts.  
“You still surprise me, ma sa'lath.”  
She held up to every ritual, every test. She did not need to prove herself, she did what needed done in pureness. Without the history of old, to misguide her ambition. A vessel worthy to help win the rebellion below. With that, a chance is coming for their people, a time they have waited thousands of years for, no longer in the hands of personal vendetta. Soft voices of the spirits that stir sing the song that carried them through waiting for this day.  
Melava inan enansal  
ir su araval tu elvaral  
u na emma abelas  
in elgar sa vir mana   
in tu setheneran din emma na  
lath sulevin  
lath araval ena  
arla ven tu vir mahvir  
melana ‘nehn  
enasal ir sa lethalin  
Taking her hand and guiding her to an area that looks to be Skyhold. It’s changed somehow, boasting the magic of Tarasyl'an Te'las. The veil broken, she can see everything as one. The two lovers arriving to their kingdom. He remains holding her hand looking on her beauty. Still lost in the realization that she never gave up on him. The two embrace, an impassioned kiss. A kiss sealing the fate of all. A kiss sealing her fate, forever. Undressing her, he finally forgets the pieces making him dark, letting go into the arms of the woman he came to love, more than any other. The woman who did not abandon him. A deep kiss, his fingers grabbing on the soft, round parts of her flesh – pulling her closer to him.  
Muin, grabs Cole's hand and leads him away toward the eluvian.  
“I helped.” Cole says, while walking off hand-in-hand with Muin, as they lead the others out of the eluvian and leave the lovers to enjoy each other; before the next day dawns.

**Author's Note:**

> I will begin to post adaptations to the story applying choice if you did not romance Solas,  
> also if you choose to be the foe instead of friend at a later date.


End file.
